./vAy<y</.- 


llMI 


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SERMONS, 


BY 

ALEXANDER    H  AMILT  ON  '  VINT  ON, 

Hector  of  St.  Paul's  Church,  Boston. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
PUBLISHED    BY   HERMAN    HOOKER, 

S.  W.  CORNER  CHESTNUT  AND  EIGHTH  STS. 

1855. 


Entered  aeoordiug  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  ISoo,  by 

HERMAN  HOOKER, 

In  the  Clerk's  OflSce  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


PRDfTM)  BT  I.  ASHXEAD. 


TO  THE  PARISHIONERS 

OF 

ST.  PAUL'S  CHURCH,  BOSTON. 
Among  whom  i  hate  gone  preaching  the  gospel 

FOR  thirteen  tears, 

e03IE    OF   WHOM   ARE    PRECIOUS    TO    3IE  A3    SEALS    OF    MY    MINISTRY, 

MANY  ENDEARED  BY  THE  SY3IPATHY  OF  JOY  AND  SORROW, 

AND  ALL  BELOVED  IN  THE  LORD, 

I  DEDICATE 

THIS   TOLrME,    IN    ACKNOWLEDGMENT    OF    THEIR    MANY    KINDNESSES 

TO    ME,  AND    IN  TESTIMONY  OP 

THE  LOTE  AND  CONSTANT  AFFECTION  WITH  WHICH 

I  AM  FAITHFULLY, 

THEIR  FRIEND  AND  PASTOR, 

ALEXANDER   H.    VINTON. 
Boston,  Sept.  3,  1855. 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

SERMON  I. 

THE  SINFULNESS  OF   SIN. 7 


SERMON  II. 

SOVEREIGNTY  AND   FREEDOM 25 

SERMON   III. 

THE  COVENANT .  .41 

SERMON  IV. 

THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE   THRONE.         ...  56 

SERMON   V. 

THE  BRAZEN  SERPENT 75 

SERMON  VI. 

REPENTANCE  A  PRIVILEGE,  PART  I.  ...  95 

<'  ''  ''      II.  ...    107 

SERMON  VII. 
ruth's  DECISION 123 

SERMON   VIII. 

HOLINESS  ESSENTIAL  TO  SALVATION.  .  .  .    144 

(iii) 


IV  CONTENTS. 

PAQB 

SERMON   IX. 

ADORNMENTS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHARACTER.  .         164 

SERMON  X. 

THE  DIFFICULTIES  OF  SALVATION 181 

SERMON   XI. 

DOUBTING  FAITH 198 

SERMON   XII. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  AT  HOME 216 

SERMON    XIII. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  IN  CHURCH.  ....         231 

SERMON   XIV. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  IN  HIS  BUSINESS 247 

SERMON   XV. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  IN  HIS  AMUSEMENTS.     .  .  .         2G1 

SERMON   XVI. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  IN  HIS  CHARITIES 277 

SERMON   XVII. 

THE  christian's  SATISFYING  PORTION.  .  .         289 

SERMON   XVIII. 

LESSER  TRIALS  A  PREPARATION  FOR  GREATER.    .  .    312 


PREFACE 


In  sending  these  sermons  to  the  press,  I  feel  that  an  act 
that  seems  so  bold,  and  yet  so  voluntary,  may  require  ex- 
planation. 

For  this  I  can  only  say,  that  the  responsibility  is  as  little 
my  own,  as  can  well  be  supposed ;  and  had  the  publication 
waited  for  my  wishes,  I  should  hardly  have  attempted  this 
experiment  of  authorship. 

But  when  the  suggestion  came  from  one  whose  ripe  Chris- 
tian scholarship  I  had  been  accustomed  to  respect;  who  was 
aiming,  in  his  line,  to  advance  a  distinct  sort  of  Christian 
literature;  consecrating  his  press,  as  once  his  tongue,  and 
his  pen,  to  preaching  the  everlasting  Gospel — I  felt  that  I 
had  hardly  the  liberty  of  refusing. 

And  since  he  was  willing  to  incur  the  whole  risk  of  profit 
or  loss,  he  will,  no  doubt,  accept  the  accompanying  responsi- 
bility of  praise  or  blame. 

1*  (v) 


VI  PREFACE. 

In  selecting  the  sermons,  I  have  studied  such  diversity 
as  I  supposed  might  make  them  more  generally  useful ;  and 
such  as  they  are,  I  commend  them  prayerfully  to  that  blessed 
Spirit,  whose  mission  it  is,  to  take  of  the  things  of  God, 
and  show  them  to  men ;  and  who  can  preach  no  less  eflfectu- 
ally  through  the  eye,  than  through  the  ear,  to  reach  the 
heart,  and  save  the  soul. 


SERMON    I. 


THE    SINFULNESS    OF   SIN. 


Komans  vii.  13. 
"That  sin  by  the  commandment  might  become  exceeding 

SINFUL.'' 

The  meaning  of  these  words  is,  that  the  de- 
merit and  evil  of  sin  are  most  plainly  revealed 
by  the  law  of  God. 

In  general,  however,  men  are  apt  to  form  their 
judgments  on  this  subject  by  quite  another 
standard.  It  is  unquestionably  true  that  society 
does  not  always  decide  upon  moral  questions  as 
God  himself  does.  Society  sometimes  calls  evil 
good  and  good  evil,  considering  rather  the  weU- 
being  of  the  community  than  the  mind  of  God. 
And,  in  a  very  artificial  state  of  society,  right 
and  wrong  are  apt  to  be  resolved  into  merely 
proper  and  improper. 

But  if  we  would  be  saved  by  God,  we  must 
be  saved  in  his  own  way.  To  act  as  he  would 
have  us  do,  we    must  first   miderstand  as  he 

a) 


8  THE   SINFULNESS   OF   SIN. 

would  have  us  understand,  must  see  with  his 
eyes,  must  judge  of  moral  relations  with  his 
judgment,  must  place  ourselves  in  his  light, 
when,  as  the  Prophet  says,  "we  shall  see  light." 

The  law  of  God  is  his  image,  the  copy  and 
expression  of  his  character;  for  it  is  the  decree 
of  his  will,  which  is  but  the  acting  out  of  his 
whole  nature.  Sin,  being  the  transgression  of 
the  law,  is  best  seen  in  its  true  nature  by  the 
light  of  the  law,  and  by  the  law  it  is  seen  in  all 
its  various  points  of  view  to  be  exceedingly 
sinful. 

As  sin  is  the  transgression  of  the  law,  we  may 
regard  its  nature,  first,  as  an  abstract  thing,  as  a 
violation  of  law  in  general.  Every  thing  which 
is  essentially  bad  is  the  violation  of  some  sort  of 
law.  And  I  do  not  know  but  the  converse  is 
equally  true — that  the  violation  of  any  law  is 
essentially  evil.  The  whole  system  of  the  uni- 
verse, above  and  below,  is  a  system  of  order  and 
consequently  of  law,  because  law  is  only  the  rule 
of  order. 

Not  only  is  the  life  and  action  of  each  sort  of 
thing  regulated  by  law,  but  the  connection  of 
different  things  is  sustained  by  the  same  pervad- 
ing power  of  law. 

The  adaptation  of  one  thing  to  another,  and  of 
all  to  the  universe  in  which  they  live,  is  still  by 


THE    SINFULNESS   OF   SIN.  9 

virtue  of  the  same  great  principle.  So  that  law 
is  only  the  theory  of  the  universe,  the  plan  of 
the  world's  perpetual  movement,  the  harmony  of 
creation,  murmuring  forth  in  the  under-tones  of 
nature's  easiest  movements,  or  pealing  in  the 
crash  of  her  more  terrible  energies.  The  silent 
play  of  affinities  or  their  convulsive  rush,  the 
minuter  as  well  as  the  mightier,  are  all  produced 
by  law,  sitting  like  a  queen,  whose  word  is  power 
and  whose  throne  is  the  world. 

When  all  the  interlacing  laws  of  the  world 
are  allowed  to  act  unhindered,  the  harmony  of 
things  is  complete,  and  nature's  movements,  and 
man's  deeds,  the  thoughts  of  the  mind,  the  affec- 
tions of  the  heart,  the  actings  of  life  and  busi- 
ness, are  like  one  texture  whose  warp  and  woof 
are  proportioned  and  strong,  which  is  studded 
with  graceful  figures  and  colored  with  a  due  diver- 
sity. But  any  violation  of  law  is  a  rent  in  the 
texture,  a  discord  in  the  chorus,  an  insurrection 
in  the  grand  army  of  God's  forces.  The  theory 
of  the  universe  is  disturbed  and  distorted,  and 
no  man  can  say  whether  the  very  life  of  the 
world  will  not  be  shortened  by  it. 

Now  this  transgression  of  law  is  always  pro- 
duced by  one  set  of  agencies  interfering  with 
another  set,  when  the  laws  of  one  department 
shoot  beyond  their  limits  into  another.     If  the 


10  THE   SINFULNESS   OF   SIN. 

moral  goes  over  into  the  physical  or  the  physical 
trenches  upon  the  moral,  if  the  feelings  thwart 
the  judgment,  and  the  human  propensities  disre- 
gard the  laws  of  nature  or  of  conscience,  then 
there  is  a  transgression,  there  is  evil  done,  and 
somebody  or  something  will  feel  it.  Nature,  or 
the  Liw  of  nature,  is  impatient  at  the  contempt  of 
her  authority,  and  indicates  her  majesty  by 
retribution.  Let  us  look  at  some  of  these  trans- 
gressions of  law,  and  see  how  their  evil  is  exhi- 
bited in  their  consequences. 

Let  a  man's  nerves  be  overtaxed  by  excite- 
ment or  labour,  his  whole  conscious  being  w^ill 
have  to  pay  the  forfeit  in  suffering  or  in  helpless- 
ness. Let  the  flow  of  his  blood  be  unequal  or 
interrupted,  and  his  whole  frame  succumbs  and 
his  life  goes  out.  Let  his  ambition  incite  him  to 
too  much  effort,  and  he  breaks  down  altogether. 
Let  his  propensities  seize  the  reins  of  his  life, 
and  he  burns  out.  Let  intemperance  get  the 
mastery  of  reason,  and  reason,  dethroned,  will  go 
out  from  him,  and  leave  him  a  poor,  staring  idiot. 
These  are  common  instances  of  violated  law,  in 
wdiich  the  human  will  goes  contrary  to  nature, 
and  nature  takes  her  sure  revenge.  They  are 
extreme  cases,  and  the}^  show^  the  more  clearly 
the  finished  consequences  of  such  transgression. 
In  proportion  as  the  olTence  comes  near  to  this, 


THE   SINFULNESS  OF   SIN.  11 

in  the  same  proportion  are  its  effects  mischievous, 
and  even  in  the  slightest  degree,  therefore,  the 
transgression  is  bad,  bad  in  its  consequences,  and 
so  we  must  suppose  essentially  bad. 

But  let  us  take  another  analogous  case  more 
striking,  and,  if  not  an  actual,  yet  a  conceivable 
case. 

This  universe  is  bound  together  by  one  great 
principle  or  law,  which  is  not  only  the  band  that 
girdles  the  world,  but  the  vital  power  that  pene- 
trates its  frame,  and  holds  each  atom  to  its  neigh- 
bour atom.  It  is  the  great  law  of  attraction,  as 
we  call  it. 

It  is  conceivable,  I  say,  that  this  law  might  be 
thwarted,  or  suspended,  or  overpowered  by  some 
counter  influence.  There  is  reason  to  suppose 
that,  in  some  remarkable  cases,  this  has  been  the 
fact.  If  such  a  thing  should  occur  to-day  on  any 
large  scale,  3^ou  can  see  what  an  overwhelming 
mischief  would  befal  the  system.  Each  whirling 
orb  would  rush  through  the  unlimited  void  with- 
out aim  or  order.  Each  in  its  separate  projec- 
tion would  follow  its  own  separate  career,  until, 
in  the  absence  of  light  and  warmth,  each  world 
would  starve  alone  in  the  empty  unknown  space, 
and  all  its  living  things  would  die.  Nay,  that 
world  would  itself  no  longer  remain  to  furnish 
graves  for  its  dead  inhabitants.     For  the  same 


12  THE   SINFULNESS  OF   SIN. 

law  broken  would  dissolve  the  cohesion  of  the 
earth  and  air.  The  solid  structure  of  each  globe 
would  itself  fly  asunder  in  atoms.  Its  elements 
would  take  their  first  impalpable  form,  in  which 
no  eye  could  see,  and  no  grasp  retain  them,  but 
His  who  first  consolidated  them  into  a  universe. 
Dark,  lifeless  and  unknown,  the  spreading  space 
would  be  the  world's  big  tomb,  from  which  there 
could  be  no  resurrection,  and  not  a  creature  sur- 
vive to  whisper  the  catastrophe. 

It  is  not  impossible  that  some  such  thing  may 
be.  It  would  be  so  to-day,  if  the  great  natural 
law  should  be  suspended  for  a  while. 

Now  I  wish  you  to  contemplate  this  mighty 
disaster,  in  order  to  realize  the  evil  of  breaking 
Divine  laws.  It  is  true  that  you  and  I  cannot 
do  this  mischief  on  so  large  a  scale,  but  the 
instance  proves  just  as  much  as  if  we  could. 
And  now,  if  we  have  appreciated  this  analogy 
as  we  ought,  let  us  turn  to  our  direct  subject. 

There  is  another  law  of  God,  as  much  above 
this  law  of  nature  as  God's  moral  attributes  are 
superior  to  his  natural.  That  law  was  meant  for 
men,  thinking  moral  agents.  It  is  brought  as  near 
to  us  as  the  law  of  nature  itself  It  is  more 
indispensable  to  our  peace  than  that;  and  although 
all  the  united  wills  of  men  cannot  supersede  it, 
since  no  conspiracy  of  wickedness  can  dethrone 


THE    SINFULNESS   OF   SIN.  13 

the  Almighty,  yet  any  single  creature  can  throw 
contempt  upon  it  by  resisting  it,  and  so  far  as  he 
does  so,  he  does  what  he  can,  not  to  destroy  the 
universe  indeed,  but  to  demorahze  it,  which  is 
far  worse.  Far  worse,  I  say,  because  the  moral 
law  was  meant  for  eternity,  the  natural  law  for 
time.  The  one  is  for  the  body,  the  other  for  the 
soul.  The  latter  is  for  earth,  and  men,  and 
brutes;  the  former  is  for  Heaven,  and  Angels, 
and  God  himself. 

Now,  although  the  bad  consequences  of  an 
action  may  prove  that  the  action  was  wTong,  yet 
our  view  of  those  consequences  does  not  always 
measure  the  wi'ong  done.  An  action  that  is 
essentially  wicked  is  just  as  wicked  without  any 
evil  consequences  that  we  can  perceive,  as  if  we 
could  trace  out  the  whole  line  of  mischief.  Its 
tendencies  are  just  as  bad,  as  if  they  were  carried 
to  their  direct  result.  E^emember,  then,  what 
the  law  is  of  which  we  speak,  and  you  will  see 
the  exceeding  sinfulness  of  sin. 

It  is  God's  choicest  institution,  the  transcript 
of  his  whole  mind  and  heart.  His  moral  govern- 
ment will  be  everlastingly  conducted  by  the  dic- 
tates of  that  law.  Heaven  and  earth  shaU  pass 
away,  and,  with  them,  all  other  laws  beside,  but 
not  a  jot  or  tittle  of  this  law  of  laws  shall  fliil. 

In  this  law  God  comes  near  to  us,  and  declares 
2 


14  THE   SINFULNESS   OF   SIN. 

his  will.  In  every  moral  action,  man  likewise 
declares  his  will.  If  his  will  be  adverse  to  God's, 
this  is  disobedience — sin.  God  says  to  man, 
''Thou  sJiall,''  the  sinner  says  in  reply,  " I  tvill 
not;'  or  God  again  declares,  "  Thou  shalt  not;'  the 
sinner  replies  again,  "/  tvilV  The  opposition  is 
direct.  It  is  a  simple  conflict  of  wills.  If  man 
were  the  stronger  he  would  enforce  his  own  will, 
and  this  would  be  to  dethrone  the  Lord.  But  it 
does  not  alter  the  wrong  that  he  is  the  weaker 
of  the  two.  It  exposes  the  follf/  of  his  sin,  but 
it  does  not  detract  from  its  wickedness.  Its 
tendency  is  just  the  same  as  if  it  were  successful. 
If  he  should  succeed,  he  would  carry  devastation 
into  heaven  itself.  ImbeciUty,  folly  and  selfish- 
ness on  the  throne  would  turn  the  universe  into 
an  all-devouring  pit  of  woe.  But  is  the  sin  any 
less  sinful  because  it  only  tries  to  do  all  this  and 
cannot?  It  is  deliberate  sin  just  as  much.  It 
is  selfish  just  as  much.  It  is  a  struggle  for 
power  with  God  Almighty,  in  the  very  matter 
where  his  chiefest  honour  is  concerned,  and  the 
w^elfiire  of  the  universe  most  vitally  involved. 

If  such  conduct  be  not  the  very  perfection  of 
moral  propriety,  it  is  plain  it  must  be  exceedingly 
sinful.  As  opposition  to  law,  and  that  the  high- 
est law,  it  must  be,  if  not  a  matter  of  world-wide 
commendation,  then  a  thing  of  damning  infamy. 


THE   SINFULNESS   OF   SIN.  15 

We  can  understand,  then,  the  force  of  the  lan- 
guage of  the  text.  Even  when  we  look  at  sin 
as  the  transgression  of  law  in  its  abstract  sense, 
it  is  essentially  and  only  wrong,  exceedingly 
wrong. 

Now,  again,  let  us  observe  more  in  detail,  how 
the  moral  law  shows  the  exceeding  sinfulness  of 
sin. 

Since  the  law  is  the  portrait  of  the  Divine 
character,  and  every  disobedience  is  a  personal 
offence  against  God,  we  can  see  its  sinfulness  by 
the  attributes  which  it  provokes. 

First,  every  sin  is  a  direct  challenge  of  omnipo- 
tence. I  am  not  going  to  attempt  the  descrip- 
tion of  this  attribute.  Human  language  was  not 
made  for  such  an  undertaking.  The  power  of 
God  is  an  idea  which  no  finite  conception  ever 
compassed.  We  could  only  describe  it  by  nega- 
tions. We  should  have  to  fix  in  our  minds 
certain  definite  bounds  as  far  as  our  minds  can 
leap,  and  then  say,  "Greater  than  this."  We 
should  have  to  multiply  that  distance  manifold, 
until  the  tired  mind  gasped  for  thought,  and  still 
we  must  say,  "Vaster  than  this." 

Who,  by  searching,  can  find  out  God?  What 
imagination,  travelling  to  the  outmost  hmit  of 
manifested  poAver,  can  overleap  the  mighty  chasm 
that  still  separates  it  from  him  in  whose  bosom 
is  power's  infinite  source. 


16  THE    SINFULNESS   OF    SIN. 

We  are  in  the  habit  of  estimating  omnipotence 
by  its  creations.  We  travel  to  the  sun  and  then 
to  other  suns.  We  map  out  all  the  known 
systems  and  lay  them  before  our  eyes,  that  we 
may  seem  to  take  them  in  at  a  glance ;  and  when 
we  have  surveyed  the  wdiole  star-peopled  realm, 
we  know  not  but  there  may  be,  for  we  feel  there 
can  be,  just  as  deep  an  abyss  filled  wdth  just 
such  myriads  of  worlds;  and  then  another,  and 
another,  until  we  can  go  no  further  from  very 
f\iintness;  and  then  we  stop  while  infinitude 
pregnant  with  power  still  stretches  out  of  sight. 
We  have  seen  enough  to  know  that  He  who  made 
everything  can  do  anything.  This  is  only  the 
shadow  of  his  deeds,  the  hiding  of  his  power. 
All  this  God  made  and  upholds,  and  what  is  a 
more  striking  thought,  he  can  destroy  it  all,  and 
turn  the  limitless  creation  into  a  void  solitude  all 
black,  and  deep,  and  dead,  with  no  fixed  point 
but  his  own  throne,  and  no  living  thing  but  him- 
self His  very  breath  has  that  powder  as  when 
you  blow  out  the  light  of  a  candle.  The  motion 
of  his  finger  sends  out  a  stream  of  omnipotence 
that  can  turn  everything  to  nothing.  This  is  the 
power  that  stands  behind  the  law  and  upholds  it. 

And  where  is  the  power  that  defies  it?  Turn 
your  eyes  downward — away,  far  away  to  that 
little  speck  of  creation  that  moves  round  in  its 


THE   SINFULNESS   OF   SIN.  17 

tiny  orbit.  Narrow  your  vision  more  and  more 
closely.  There  upon  that  little  telescopic  body, 
you  see  a  little  microscopic  thing — a  creature  of 
yesterday,  to  die  to-morrow.  His  breath  is  in 
his  nostrils.  He  is  crushed  before  the  moth. 
You  see  him  carry  his  head  high,  and  cast  a 
scornful  look  up  towards  the  great  law.  God  has 
told  him,  "Thou  shalt  not;"  he  grows  angry  and 
says,  "I  ^Vill."  God  thunders  again  in  his 
almightiness  and  says,  "Thou  shalt  be  destroyed;" 
the  little  creature  is  offended  at  the  threat  and 
will  hear  no  more. 

The  sinfulness  of  sin  is  seen  again  in  the 
wisdom  it  contemns. 

The  Divine  wisdom  is  the  power  of  knowing 
all  that  is  possible  as  well  as  all  that  is  actual. 
Before  the  mind  of  God  all  the  causes  of  things 
are  arranged  like  seeds  for  the  nursery  of  the 
universe,  and  he  knows  what  each  will  bring 
forth.  He  can  tell  all  that  has  been  in  the 
history  of  eternity,  and  unfold  everything  that 
shall  be  or  can  be  in  the  unopened  future. 

He  can  equally  well  understand  the  relations 
of  things.  He  knows  the  effect  of  every  possi- 
ble combination  of  causes.  He  can  foil  every 
wrong  design,  can  insure  every  right  purpose, 
disappoint  all  machinations,  bring  good  out  of 
evil;  and  with  matchless,  amazing  skill,  can 
2* 


18  THE    SINFULNESS   OF    SIN. 

make  the  wrath  of  man  to  praise  him.  This  is 
the  wisdom  of  omniscience. 

To  sin  against  the  law  is  to  despise  it.  And 
now,  who  is  the  sinner  ?  The  same  inferior  crea- 
ture whom  we  saw  just  now,  small  in  his  under- 
standing as  in  his  power;  one  who  knows  hut 
little  of  the  past,  nothing  of  the  future,  and 
scarcely  more  than  the  outside  of  himself;  one 
whose  wisdom  is  praised  by  men,  if  perchance 
he  learns  before  he  dies,  that  he  knows  nothing 
as  he  ought  to  know  it;  so  that  his  rarest  wisdom 
is  his  conscious  ignorance.  It  is  he,  who,  in 
spite  of  the  infinitely  wise  law,  will  make  his 
own  laws;  when  omniscience  points  the  path  to 
glory  and  felicity,  will  choose  another  path;  Avhen 
the  infallible  mind  utters  through  the  law,  "  This 
is  the  way,  walk  ye  in  it,"  replies  by  the 
language  of  his  hfe,  "  I  will  not^  I  desire  not  the 
knowledge  of  thy  ways." 

We  may  learn,  again,  the  inveteracy  of  sin 
through  the  holiness  of  the  law,  reflecting  the 
character  of  the  Lawgiver.  There  is  no  attribute 
of  God,  which  he  himself  so  much  exalts  as  his 
holiness.  It  is  not  itself  so  much  an  attribute  as 
it  is  the  brightness  which  is  thrown  over  all  the 
rest.  It  is  the  complexion  of  his  character  rather 
than  one  of  its  features.  It  consists  of  that  imma- 
culateness  which  makes  the  Deity  seem  to  be  aU 


THE    SINFUXNESS   OF    Sm.  19 

light  and  purity ;  the  quality  which  makes  it  neces- 
sary for  him,  if  I  may  speak  so,  to  prefer  right  to 
wrong,  good  to  evil,  truth  to  falsehood,  charity  to 
selfishness.  It  is  this  which  creates  in  his  hosom 
his  irreconcilable  hatred  to  all  sin,  so  that  sin  is  to 
his  mind  an  eternal  abomination.  It  is  this  which 
is  the  theme  of  the  angels'  loftiest  adoration,  upon 
which  they  look  with  most  awe-stricken  rever- 
ence, in  whose  presence  they  veil  their  faces 
with  their  wings,  as  they  sing,  in  sublime  chorus, 
"  Holy,  holy,  holy.  Lord  God  Almighty ! "  It  is 
this,  whose  remembrance  strikes  down  lust  and 
pride  in  the  heart  of  the  penitent  sinner,  and 
makes  him  pant  after  those  attainments  in  piety 
which  will  render  him  more  like  his  God.  And 
this  it  is,  which  the  impenitent  sinner  most 
strenuously  dislikes.  It  is  uncongenial  to  his 
nature.  If  you  speak  of  simple  love,  he  can 
appreciate  its  sweetness;  but  if  you  call  it  liohj 
love  instead,  there  is  an  aversion  of  his  feelings 
which  he  does  not  care  to  disguise;  and  when 
the  law,  the  perfect  law,  radiant  with  God's  holi- 
ness, shines  upon  him,  he  turns  away  as  if  its 
purity  were  intolerable  and  scathed  his  sight. 

Thus  far  we  have  seen  the  evil  of  sin  by  the 
light  of  those  Divine  attributes,  every  one  of 
which  speaks  out  in  the  precept  of  \h^  broken 
law.     Let  the  law  be  still  our  schoolmaster,  and 


20  TIIE   SINFULNESS   OF   SIN. 

teach  us,  by  its  terrible  penalties,  the  same  solemn 
lesson  of  ^visdom.  Remember,  then,  the  sentence 
passed  upon  the  transgression  of  our  first  parent, 
of  death,  temporal  and  eternal. 

From  this  sentence,  we  learn  that  sin  planted 
the  seed  of  causes  and  influences  that  should 
entail  the  certainty  of  temporal  and  immortal 
sorrow. 

Mark,  first,  the  temporal  woe. 

Go,  stand  in  the  midst  of  Paradise  before  the 
first  sin.  Range  in  its  paths  of  beauty ;  rest  in 
its  bowers  of  peace ;  breathe  in  its  atmosphere, 
whose  every  breath  imparts  the  keener  sense  of 
life  and  the  joy  of  immortahty.  Then  stand 
with  the  banished  Adam  after  that  sin,  outside 
the  walls  of  Eden,  its  gates  shut  and  guarded, 
his  back  forever  turned  to  the  lost  Paradise  and 
his  face  towards  a  world  cursed  for  his  sake. 
And  when  you  have  contemplated  the  vision  of 
darkness,  storm,  and  terror  long  enough,  as  it 
stretches  in  perspective  to  the  end  of  time — then 
travel  down  through  the  days  and  years  of  actual 
history.  Summon  together  the  dead  from  every 
clime  and  region,  from  hill  and  dell,  and  bloody 
field,  and  ocean  caves,  till  the  earth  itself  shall 
seem  to  be  but  one  huge  cemetery,  and  this 
witness  of  death  shall  yet  speak  of  the  exceed- 
ing   sinfulness    of    sin.     Gather    together    the 


THE   SINFULNESS   OF    SIN.  21 

human  tears  that  have  flowed  through  the 
channels  of  human  sufFermg,  till  its  ocean  banks 
are  full,  and  its  moaning  tide,  as  it  swells  up  to 
your  feet,  tells  of  the  sinfulness  of  sin.  Let  the 
groans  of  man's  WTetchedness  join  in  one  long 
A^olumed  peal  of  woe,  and  the  burden  of  its  dirge 
note  is  "sin."  Find  out  the  lurking  places  of 
want  and  pain,  on  palace  floors  or  in  caves 
of  the  wilderness,  and  every  where  sin  has  been 
before  you,  and  left  its  foot-prints  side  by  side 
with  man's. 

Next  pass  from  the  temporal  penalty  of  the 
law  to  the  eternal,  whose  terrible  peculiarity  is, 
that  it  works  the  grand  forfeiture  of  all  for  which 
man  was  made.  He  was  made  for  God,  and  for 
a  home  of  such  delights  as  eye  hath  not  seen,  nor 
ear  heard,  nor  have  entered  the  heart  of  man. 
And  this  is  lost  and  gone,  and  his  eternity  is 
worse  in  nothing  than  in  this,  that  he  is  away 
from  God  and  without  God;  a  condition  out  of 
which  nothing  can  come  forth  but  burning  pangs, 
and  weeping,  and  wailing,  and  gnashing  of  teeth. 
Let  this  suffice  for  the  personal  penalty  of  sin, 
and  its  sinfulness  as  shown  by  that  penalty. 

And  now  tm'n  to  see  how  the  evil  of  sin  is 
attested  by  the  law,  in  visiting  its  penalty  upon 
the  soul  of  our  great  substitute.  For  it  was  sin 
that  procured  all  the  sorrows  of  the  crucified  Em- 


22  THE   SINFULNESS  OF   SIN. 

manuel.  Sin  drew  him  from  Heaven,  and  sepa- 
rated the  loving  Father  and  the  beloved  Son. 
Sin  compelled  the  mighty  humiliation  from  the 
throne  to  the  stable.  Sin  paved  his  way  through 
life,  and  dogged  him  at  every  step.  Sin  made 
him  the  man  of  sorrows,  an  outcast  in  his  own 
world,  hated  by  those  he  loved.  Sin  smote  him 
with  the  amazement  of  his  bleeding  agony  in 
Gethsemane.  Sin  wove  the  royal  robe  of  his 
contempt,  and  platted  the  sharp  crown  of  his 
down-trodden  majesty.  Sin  gave  the  buffet, 
mixed  the  gall,  drove  the  nail,  pointed  the  spear. 
Sin  groaned  in  the  lamentable  appeal,  "My  God, 
my  God,  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  "  And  sin 
gave  its  last  groan  of  expiring  vengeance,  when 
He,  who  bore  the  mighty  load  for  a  world  of  sin- 
ners, for  you  and  me,  dropped  his  head  upon  his 
breast,  and  cried,  "  It  is  finished ;"  and  the  earth 
and  the  heavens  echoed  that  groan,  that  one  so 
innocent  should  be  treated  as  so  guilt}^ 

It  was  the  law's  retribution  that  could  not  but 
be  fulfilled.  It  was  the  awful  vindication  of 
power,  wisdom  and  holiness  all  Divine,  speaking 
and  acting  in  the  broken  law.  If  that  law  can 
illustrate  the  exceeding  sinfulness  of  sin,  it  is 
when  it  pours  its  indignation  upon  the  unoffend- 
ing head  of  the  self-humbled  God  who  made  the 
law. 

When  we  see  it  all,  and  remember  that  even 


THE    SINFULNESS   OF    SIN.  23 

one  sin,  in  its  essential  nature,  is  so  evil  that  it 
cannot  be  pardoned  without  the  blood  of  that 
agony,  and  then  remember  our  own  sins  without 
recollection  or  number — sins  of  days,  months, 
years — of  a  whole  unrepented  and  unforgiven  life, 
what  a  swollen  aggregate  of  guilt !  How  should 
we  stand  convicted  before  conscience,  as  she  rises 
up  in  each  one  of  us  and  says,  "For  thee,  for  thee!" 
Yes,  for  thee ;  and  the  very  fact,  that  we  live  to 
listen  to  such  an  appeal,  illustrates  afresh  the 
divinity  of  the  law  and  the  baseness  of  its  trans- 
gression. For  it  is  the  divinity  of  patience,  for- 
bearance and  love  that  makes  that  appeal,  that 
holds  back  the  law  and  waits  for  us  to  reach  the 
cross.  It  has  been  a  long-suffering  law  to  each 
one  of  us.  Does  not  the  suggestion  stir  your 
recollections  to  a  turmoil,  each  one  striving  for 
the  pre-eminence  of  sadness  in  your  heart  ?  How 
much  defiance  of  God's  power — how  much  con- 
tempt of  his  wisdom — how  much  aversion  from 
his  purity,  has  his  law  witnessed  in  us  all !  In 
thought,  and  word,  and  deed — by  the  neglect 
of  warnings — by  the  scorning  of  threats — by  the 
despising  of  invitations — by  the  abuse  of  provi- 
dences, the  perversion  of  prosperity,  and  the 
hardening  of  the  heart  against  affliction — by  the 
resistance  of  the  Spirit,  and  by  the  rejection  of 
Christ,  the  bleeding  Lamb  of  atonement — how 


24  THE   SINFULNESS   OF   SIN. 

have  we  fearfully  provoked  it !  On  our  sick  beds, 
how  often  have  we  resolved  and  promised  to  give 
our  restored  powers  to  God  and  have  not  done 
it !  When  touched  by  an  admonition,  awakened 
by  a  sermon,  impelled  by  the  gentle  striving  of 
the  Spirit,  or  induced  by  the  view  of  a  dying 
Redeemer,  how  often  have  we  prayed  and  forth- 
with sinned  against  our  prayer ! 

In  all  these  ways  God  has  waited  and  been 
with  us  to  save  us ! 

So  assiduous  is  his  love,  and  his  beseechings 
so  importimate,  it  may  be  that  some  of  us  are 
over  wearied  with  his  long-suffering,  though  he 
Ls  not.  There  may  be  persons  to  whom  this 
tenderness  has  lost  its  charm,  and  who,  if  their 
hearts  could  speak,  would  rather  beg  that  God 
would  trouble  them  no  more.  It  is  a  sad  abuse 
of  grace,  but  it  exposes,  at  least,  the  exceeding 
sinfulness  of  sin,  as  it  is  seen  by  the  patience  of 
the  law. 

And  it  is  still  a  patient  law.  The  retribution 
waits,  and  while  it  waits  any  of  us  may  be  saved. 
May  we  all  have  grace  to  understand  the  sinful- 
ness of  our  sins  and  seek  for  mercy !  All,  I  say, 
for  "all  have  sinned  and  come  short  of  the  glory 
of  God."  To  you,  to  me,  to  all  of  us,  the  Spirit 
of  truth,  standing  among  us  here,  may  say,  with 
truthful  emphasis,  "  Thou  art  the  man." 


SEEMON  II 


SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM 


Psalm  ex.  3. 


"Thy  people  shall  be  willing  in  the  day  of  thy  power, 
in  the  beauties  of  holiness  from  the  womb  of  the 
morning:  thou  hast  the  dew  of  thy  youth." 

In  the  whole  strain  of  this  Psalm,  we  have  a 
prophetic  view  of  the  character  and  offices  of  the 
Christ  to  come.  We  see  Him  in  the  humiliation 
of  his  priestly  character,  stooping  down,  like  a 
worn  and  thirsty  traveller,  to  drink  of  the  brook 
in  the  way.  We  see  Him,  as  if  refreshed  by 
that  stooping,  lifting  up  his  head  in  the  dignity 
of  an  office,  which,  like  that  of  Melchisedek,  was 
both  priestly  and  royal;  and  which,  like  Melchise- 
dek's,  having  neither  beginning  of  days  nor  end 
of  life,  made  him  a  king  and  a  jyriest  forever. 

It  is  in  this  character  of  royalty  that  he  is 
presented  to  us  in  the  third  verse  of  the  Psalm 
which  is  our  text.  The  Psalmist  foretells  the 
triumphs   of  that  grace   which  the   enthroned 

3  (25) 


26        SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM. 

Saviour  shall  dispense  in  the  world  to  gather  to 
himself  the  great  sacramental  host  of  Ilis 
redeemed.  The  number  of  those  who  shall  be 
converted  to  His  dominion,  is  signified  by  the 
poetical  but  most  intricate  expression,  "from  the 
womb  of  the  morning,  thou  hast  the  dew  of  thy 
youth." 

The  best  explanation  I  can  give  of  this  highly 
figurative  passage  is  this,  viz: — the  phrase  "the 
womb  of  the  morning"  signifies  the  depth  from 
which  the  light  comes  forth.  "Dew"  is  an  im- 
age of  both  multitude  and  beauty,  and  "youth" 
is  significant  of  the  vigor  of  that  early  period  of 
life — i.  e.,  as  the  innumerable  drops  glistening  on 
rock  and  leaf  and  grassy  spire  are  revealed  by 
the  opening  day,  so  shall  be  thy  countless  con- 
verts when  thy  grace  shall  go  forth  like  the  vigor 
of  youth,  or  the  flooding  energy  of  the  sun's  first 
light.  Some,  indeed,  interpret  this  figure  as 
denoting  that  the  splendor  of  the  Redeemer's 
victory  will  be  seen  most  remarkably  in  the  great 
number  of  the  young  who  shall  be  converted  to 
His  grace.  But,  in  the  explanation  I  have  given, 
I  see  no  violence  to  the  passage,  while  for  reasons 
both  theological  and  rhetorical,  I  think  it  is  to  be 
preferred.  The  theological  reason  is,  that  we  are 
not  taught  that  the  converts  of  the  Gospel  shall 
consist  principally  of  the  young,  but  that  inqui- 


SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM.         27 

rers  of  all  sorts  shall  fly  as  clouds  and  as  doves 
to  their  windows  in  their  energetic  wdsh  for  sal- 
vation. An  interpretation,  therefore,  which 
narrows  the  triumphs  of  the  cross  to  one  class 
of  mankind,  fails  to  compass  the  breadth  of  the 
Divine  plan  of  mercy.  And  the  rhetorical  rea- 
son is,  that  the  explanation  of  this  image  I  have 
given  just  includes  and  repeats,  in  a  poetical  way, 
the  same  statements  w^hich  had  been  more  sim- 
ply made  in  the  former  part  of  the  verse.  Thus 
the  former  part,  "thy  people  shall  be  willing  in 
the  day  of  thy  power,"  expresses  literally  the 
idea  of  Christ's  sovereignty,  and  this  idea  is  found 
poetically  expressed  in  the  image  of  the  early 
sunlight  rushing,  with  the  energy  of  youth,  from 
the  opening  abyss  of  the  morning. 

Again,  the  expression  "the  beauties  of  holi- 
ness," in  the  former  part  of  the  text,  although 
poetical  in  itself,  is  more  exquisitely  figurative 
m  the  image  of  the  countless  dewdrops  glisten- 
ing with  the  reflected  beauty  of  the  new  light. 
Instead,  therefore,  of  understanding  the  word 
"youth"  as  denoting  the  age  of  the  converts,  I 
would  rather  consider  it  as  signifying  the  vehe- 
mence which  belongs  to  that  period  of  hfe,  and 
thus  denoting  the  energy  of  the  grace  of  Christ. 
While,  by  the  image  of  the  dew,  we  may  under- 
stand not  only  the  number  of  the  converts,  but 
the  shining  beauty  of  their  characters. 


28        SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM. 

There  are,  then,  in  this  passage,  two  leading 
ideas  of  cause  and  effect :  first,  the  power  of 
Christ's  converting  grace ;  second,  the  attractive- 
ness of  a  converted  character  or  the  beauties  of 
hohness.  Let  us  proceed  to  set  forth  these  ideas 
a  nttle  more  at  large. 

First,  the  converting  power  of  the  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.  "  Thy  people  shall  be  w^illing  in  the  day 
of  thy  power." 

You  will  be  struck  with  the  manner  in  w^hich 
the  pen  of  inspiration  brings  together  two  sugges- 
tions or  points  of  doctrine  which  are  usually 
thought  to  be  contradictory,  viz : — the  power  of 
God  and  the  will  of  man.  Hmnan  philosophy 
has  puzzled  and  confounded  itself,  time  out  of 
mind,  in  attempting  to  resolve  the  problem,  how 
God  can  influence  the  w^ill  of  man  and  yet  man 
be  voluntary  and  free.  So  high  has  been  the 
dispute,  that  the  schools  of  philosophy  have 
ranged  themselves  in  mutual  hostility  on  this 
platform  alone. 

The  single  line  of  demarcation  has  been  the 
question,  whether  the  human  will  is  free  or  con- 
strained, whether  man  is  a  voluntary  agent  or  an 
agent  divinely  necessitated.  The  one  school  has 
decried,  with  a  sort  of  horror,  the  freedom  of  man, 
as  if  it  were  an  invasion  of  the  sovereignty  of 
God.     The  other  has  refused  the   doctrine  of 


SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM.         29 

Divine  constraint,  as  if  it  overthrew  the  responsi- 
bleness  of  man,  and  sapped  the  foundation  of  a 
moral  government. 

Standing  on  the  two  extremes  of  opinion,  these 
hostile  armies  have  faced  each  other  in  open  con- 
tradiction, shooting  forth  each  its  own  arguments, 
which,  however  they  rattled  against  the  iron 
proof  of  their  antagonists,  fell  hurtless  to  the 
ground.  Or,  if  ever  a  champion  were  pierced  by 
the  convincing  shaft  and  fell  a  victim  to  the  con- 
troversy, the  rival  hosts  still  held  their  position 
without  surrender  and  without  a  truce.  On  no 
middle  ground  have  they  ever  met,  nor  suffered 
their  flags  to  float  side  by  side,  to  tell  the  world 
that  truth  is  composed  of  more  ideas  than  one. 
It  is  an  almost  touching  commentary  on  our 
mental  shortsightedness.  It  should  make  us 
fearfully  distrust  all  extreme  forms  of  opinion. 
Now,  unlike  the  schools  of  men,  God  teaches  us 
that  the  truth,  which  is  to  him  a  unity,  is  to  us 
a  complexity,  that  the  world  is  a  mixture,  that 
man  himself  is  a  compound  of  opposite  elements^ 
and  man's  life  a  constant  conflict  of  forces.  With- 
out stooping  to  explain  to  our  imbecile  curiosity 
the  intricacies  of  the  mighty  problem,  the  inspi- 
ration of  Almighty  God,  seizing  on  both  parts  of 
the  question,  joins  them  together  in  one  state- 
ment of  truth,  and  presses  that  statement  in  a 


80        SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM. 

practical  form  home  upon  the  bosom  and  the  brain 
of  eA^cry  human  creature.  It  will  not  allow  us 
to  be  amused  with  the  c|uestion,  How  can  I  be 
responsible  to  God  if  I  am  dependent  on  Divine 
grace?  nor,  on  the  other  hand,  How  can  I  be 
dependent  on  him  for  salvation,  when  the  respon- 
sibility is  all  my  own? 

The  Bible  does  not  scruple  to  declare,  with  that 
positiveness  wdiich  belongs  to  certainty,  and  that 
assurance  which  is  not  afraid  of  paradox,  "  Work 
out  your  own  salvation  with  fear  and  trembling, 
for  it  is  God  which  worketh  in  you,  both  to  w^ill 
and  to  do  of  his  good  pleasure." 

It  lodges  that  solemn  injunction  on  our  hearts, 
and  It  leaves  us  to  speculate  on  it  at  our  peril — 
to  reject  it  to  our  perdition,  or  to  act  piously 
upon  it  to  our  joy  and  salvation.  It  is  such  a 
statement  as  this  that  we  have  in  our  text,  "  Thy 
people  shall  be  wiUing  in  the  day  of  thy  power." 

Here  are  the  seemingly  repugnant  ideas  of 
man's  will,  acting  in  subordination  to  the  Divine 
power,  and  yet  acting  freely,  brought  together  in 
affinity  and  forming  the  solid  product  of  truth 
by  which  you  and  I  are  to  be  saved. 

In  the  day  of  Christ's  power,  when  he  shall 
put  forth  that  power  the  strongest,  then  shall  his 
people  be  willing,  and  their  willingness  shall  be 
in  proportion  as  his  power  is  put  forth.     This,  I 


SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FEEEDOM.         31 

understand  to  be  the  meaning  of  the  declaration. 
It  is  a  declaration,  which,  however  our  specula- 
tive reason  may  demur,  our  hearts  echo  from  those 
deep,  dark  chambers  where  conviction  burns  like 
pent  up  fire. 

We  feel  it  to  be  true,  even  where  our  under- 
standing cannot  grasp  the  truth,  that  there  must  be 
an  inworking  God  to  overrule  our  depravity,  or 
else  we  can  never  be  willing  to  be  his.    No  matter 
where  we  find  our  witnesses,  only  let  them  be 
experts  in  human  nature,  competent  witnesses, 
men  who  have  thought  enough  of  fife  and  of  them- 
selves to  have  an  intelligent  opinion,  men  who  have 
tried  the  experiment  of  holiness  in  their  own 
strength,  and  they  will  testify  alike.     The  Chris- 
tian who  has  mastered  his  unregeneracy,  and  the 
sinner  whose  unregeneracy  has  mastered  him, 
will  both  confess  tliat  without  God  we  can  do 
nothing.     Both   look  up  to  a  sovereign  power 
above  them:  the  one  looks  tearfully,  thankfully; 
the  other  doggedly,  discontentedly.     The  former 
thrills,  while  he  adores,  and  says,  "By  the  grace 
of  God  I  am  what  I  am;"  the  latter  writhes,  as  if 
he  were  inwardly  stung,  while  he  complains,  "I 
cannot  repent,  I  cannot  give  my  heart  to  God." 
This  Divine  truth  thus  has  its  human  attestation, 
and  man  is  witness  for  that  God,  that  his  omnipo- 
tence is  supreme  even  over  the  spiritual  dignity 


32        SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM. 

of  US  immortals.  And  is  not  this  the  noblest  aspect 
of  omnipotence  ?  We  see  that  attribute  in  nature 
moving  the  dull  inertia,  and  moulding  passive 
material  forms,  and  it  is  great  and  superhuman, 
wherever  we  see  it.  But  here,  it  is  power  over 
that  which  is  itself  power;  spirit,  living  spirit, 
self-motive,  active  sjmit,  and  what  is  more,  the 
repugnant,  struggling,  angry  spirit  of  depravity. 
It  lays  hold  on  the  best  part  of  man,  and  bows 
it-^the  life  of  man,  and  subordinates  it  to  the 
life  of  God. 

All  other  demonstrations  of  omnipotence  the 
world  has  famiUarly  seen,  but  converting  power, 
changing  the  life  of  man's  spirit,  the  spirit  of 
man's  life,  is  the  select  and  peculiar  glory  of  om- 
nipotence. It  exhibits  the  great  Jehovah  in  the 
exercise  which  seems  most  like  labor,  and  shows 
the  might  of  his  supremacy  beyond  all  other 
proofs.  And  when,  to  this,  you  add  the  consid- 
eration, that  the  motive  which  urges  this  power 
is  a  motive  of  love,  that  this  omnipotence  is  the 
omnipotence  of  grace,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  conceive 
of  any  exhibition  that  can  match  this  one. 

There  is  a  cool,  indilTerent,  self-satisfied  sinner; 
he  loves  the  world  supremely;  he  deems  himself 
one  of  the  world's  most  important  personages; 
he  is  proud  of  his  wealth,  of  his  station,  and  if 
not  of  his  intellect,  3^et  proud  of  his  opinion. 


SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM.         33 

He  receives  the  message  of  God  with  a  supercil- 
ious scruple,  as  if  he  could  adequately  judge  of 
Divine  things  in  the  strength  of  his  own  under- 
standing, as  if  his  untaught  opinions  were  an 
oracle  from  heaven^ — God  speaking  in  him — to 
supersede  the  bod}^  of  revelation,  which  has  illu- 
minated all  Christendom,  and  converted  all  Chris- 
tians. See  that  man,  as  he  hugs  his  very  igno- 
rance, rejecting  Divine  truth  the  more  obstinately 
the  nearer  it  comes  to  his  conscience,  and  harden- 
ing his  heart  beneath  the  dews  and  the  sunlight, 
the  lightning  and  the  rain  of  God's  grace. 

I  have  drawn  such  a  picture,  because  it  is  the 
portrait  of  a  character  the  most  unlikely  to  be 
converted.  His  pride,  and  his  ignorance,  and  his 
passionless  hardness  of  heart,  render  him  far 
less  impressible  than  if  he  had  quick  and  ram- 
pant feelings,  acting  out  in  a  rude  and  sensual 
life.  But  look  at  him  as  the  incarnation  of  bad 
and  ungenial  qualities,  think  of  him  as  unfavor- 
ably as  you  must,  and  with  as  much  pity  as 
you  can,  he  may  be  one  of  Christ's  people  yet, 
in  the  day  of  the  Eedeemer's  grace  and  power. 
Some  arrow,  from  the  quiver  of  the  Almighty, 
will  pierce  the  obdurate  heart.  Some  truth  will 
flit  past  his  mind  with  a  ghostly  look  that  reminds 
him  of  death,  judgment  and  eternity,  some  re- 
membered sin  will  fester  in  his  conscience^  and 


34        SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM. 

the  sense  that  he  is  in  the  grasp  of  God,  will 
shake  his  stout  pride,  llis  cold  blooded  scorn 
will  be  changed  to  hot  hate,  and  he  will  wrestle 
with  the  spirit  in  his  heart  as  if  for  life  or  death. 
You  might  suppose  him  farther  off  than  ever 
from  the  kingdom  of  Christ.  But,  one  by  one, 
new  truths  will  crowd  in  upon  his  mind.  His  old 
impressions  of  himself  will  be  crowded  out.  He 
sees  more  of  his  nature's  sinful  depths,  and  more 
of  God's  unfathomable  purity;  darker,  broader 
lines  of  sin  in  his  own  history,  brighter  lines  of 
mercy  in  the  Divine  dealings ;  until  a  certain  ten- 
derness grows  over  his  feelings,  not  the  raw, 
savage  irritability  of  dislike,  but  a  gentle  tone  of 
sensibility  that  is  mellowing  his  heart,  and  pre- 
paring it  to  dissolve  away  in  penitential  sorrow. 
Then  he  loves  to  go  away  by  himself,  and  be- 
gins to  think  of  prayer;  and  bye  and  bye  he  is 
on  his  knees,  and  his  eyes,  so  often  turned  up  in 
scorn,  nre  now  cautiously  lifted  in  inquiring  de- 
sire and  humble  confession.  Their  callous  lids 
begin  to  pour  out  unaccustomed  tears.  His  lips,  so 
often  filled  with  his  proud  reproaches  of  Chris- 
tians and  their  religion,  now  labor  and  tremble 
with  the  big  utterance  of  his  sins.  Thus,  as  he 
gazes,  he  sees  the  image  of  a  bloody  cross  and  a 
bleeding  Saviour.  He  hears  the  earnest  call, 
"  Come  unto  me."    The  whole  meaning  of  Calvary 


SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM.         35 

flashes  on  his  mind.  He  sees  why  there  should 
be  a  Saviour.  He  understands  the  value  of  aton- 
ing blood  and  the  preciousness  of  Christ.  His 
soul  moves  forward,  watching  if  it  shall  be  re- 
pulsed. The  nearer  he  comes,  the  more  benign 
seems  Christ's  compassionate  look.  He  hesitates 
a  moment,  it  may  be  to  unclasp  some  darling  sin, 
that  has  battened,  hke  a  parasite,  on  his  soul,  and 
clings  there  to  the  last;  and  when  this  is  done, 
he  falls  down  and  clasps  the  foot  of  the  cross 
with  the  whole  willingness  of  his  longing  soul. 
You  know  the  rest;  he  is  a  justified  believer.  He 
has  found  salvation.  He  is  one  of  Christ's  peo- 
ple. What  made  him  so,  do  you  ask?  Ask 
him ;  he  will  tell  you,  "  Grace — pure  sovereign 
grace.  Christ's  dear  power  acting  in  the  day  of 
his  power."  "But  were  you  forced?  was  your 
will  constrained  ?"  "Yes,  sweetly  constrained,  else 
I  had  remained  in  the  gall  of  bitterness  and  in 
the  bond  of  iniquity;  but  never  was  I  so  pro- 
foundly willing  as  in  the  soul-absorbing  act,  by 
which  I  grasped  the  cross.  Never  did  I  seem  to 
myself  so  free  and  masterly  in  my  free  agency, 
as  when  I  gathered  up  my  whole  being,  and 
offered  it  as  a  tribute  to  redeeming  love." 

My  brethren,  this  is  the  way  to  solve  the 
paradox  of  Divine  sovereignty  and  human  free- 
dom, practically,  at  the  cross.  Faith  is  the 
touchstone,  pardon  is  the  fruit. 


36        SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM. 

I  have  here  described  only  a  single  example ; 
but  it  illustrates  the  day  of  Christ's  power  and 
the  willingness  of  his  people.  In  that  prophetic 
period  to  which  our  text  points,  when  that  power 
shall  rush  forth  like  the  volumed  light  from  the 
womb  of  the  morning,  then,  no  doubt,  there  will 
be  myriads  of  converts  like  the  drops  of  dew. 
But  in  each  separate  instance  we  see  only  the 
same  repeated  process  as  now  brings  a  sinner 
to  salvation.  Will  those  prophetic  myriads  shine 
in  their  regeneration  like  dew-drops  in  the  sun- 
light? So  does  every  single  convert  glow  with 
the  same  holy  beauty,  for  this  is  the  beauty  of 
holiness. 

The  beauty  of  holiness  was  to  be  our  second 
topic  of  remark.  The  Psalmist  employs  the  em- 
phatic plural,  "Thy  people  shall  be  willing  in  the 
day  of  thy  power,  in  the  heauties  of  hohness;" 
implying  that  these  beauties  are  many.  I  ap- 
peal to  you  then,  brethren,  if  there  be  not  a  cer- 
tain intellectual  beauty  in  this  blending  together 
of  spiritual  forces  in  conversion.  God's  sovereign 
omnipotence,  mingling  with  man's  free  agency, 
without  abasing  the  sovereignty  or  abating  the 
freedom.  God  never  more  like  God,  than  when 
he  arrests  the  sinning  soul  in  its  recklessness, 
and  captivates  its  whole  being  to  himself;  and 
man  never  half  so  much  like  a  man,  as  when  he 


SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM.         37 

masters  his  depravity,  renounces  his  sins  and 
presents  himself  a  free-will  offering  to  his  Sa- 
viour. 

It  is  the  beauty  which  the  mind  feels  when 
opposing  principles  are  reconciled,  and  repugnan- 
ces dissolved,  and  deep  mystical  truth  demon- 
strated by  open  experience. 

I  appeal  to  you  again,  if  there  be  not  the  beau- 
ty of  moral  fitness  in  the  transaction  by  which 
a  disobedient  servant  is  reclaimed  to  his  rightful 
lord  and  master;  a  rebel  lays  down  his  arms,  sub- 
dued to  the  constitutional  authority;  a  sinner  led 
to  find  a  Saviour ;  a  wandering  star  brought  back 
to  take  its  place  in  God's  grand  system  of  light. 
So  much  as  the  sweet  harmony  of  the  w^orld  has 
been  broken  by  this  jarring  element  of  sin,  the 
only  discord  in  it,  is  not  the  sense  of  beauty 
awakened  when  that  harmony  is  restored  and  the 
sin  destroyed  ?  Every  conversion  to  Jesus  Christ, 
tends,  so  far  as  it  goes,  to  restore  the  original 
pattern  of  the  creation,  when  God's  smile  reflected 
beauty  from  its  unsinning  and  unpunished  hfe; 
when  order  reigned  unmarred,  and  all  created 
being  gravitated  tow^ards  God.  It  is  beautiful^ 
then,  to  see  a  depraved  and  offending  creature 
return  where  his  duty  calls,  and  forswear  his  in- 
surrection, and  take  his  holy  stand  in  the  ranks 
of  Christ's  people. 


38         SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM. 

And  I  appeal  to  you  again,  if  there  be  not 
an  added  beauty  of  holiness  belonging  to  the 
character  of  the  convert  himself.  In  the  willing 
surrender  of  himself  to  God's  will,  he  becomes 
joined  to  him  in  union  of  nature  and  communion 
of  spirit.  A  conformity  to  the  Divine  character 
follows  the  transformation  of  his  will.  God  in 
Christ  becomes  the  pattern  of  the  believer's  life. 
Now  we  know  wdiat  constitutes  the  resplendent 
beauty  of  Jehovah ;  not  merely  that  his  power  is 
vast,  his  wisdom  infniite,  his  presence  universal, 
but  that  his  highest  perfections  are  moral;  that 
over  all  his  attributes  he  throws  the  mantle  of  a 
pervading  holiness,  glorious  in  its  purity,  and 
flashing  forth  the  full  splendor  of  the  Godhead. 
Of  this  Divine  quality,  the  converted  soul  drinks 
in  its  fill.  The  God  whom  the  Christian  lovingly 
adores,  he  adores  for  his  holiness,  and  while  he 
loves,  holiness  shines  forth  from  his  open  charac- 
ter, like  the  transferred  beauty  of  heaven  itself. 

I  will  not  point  to  every  Christian  as  the  model 
of  this  beauty,  but  I  am  sure  you  can  remember 
some  whose  characters  seemed  to  have  been 
bathed  in  heaven;  whose  meekness,  gentleness, 
piety,  charity,  beamed  forth  like  rays  of  beauti- 
ful light;  and  when  you  traced  them  back,  you 
found  they  flowed  forth  from  a  whole  character 
of  holiness  which  was  itself  one  beauty. 


SOVEREIGNTY  AND  FREEDOM.        39 

God  thus  transfers  himself  to  his  loving  child. 
The  sinner  adopted  in  Christ  becomes  Christ-like ; 
and  surely,  if  there  be  any  attraction  of  beauty  in 
our  adorable  Maker,  that  beauty  becomes  our  own 
when  God's  shattered  image  within  us  is  restored, 
and  we  are  made  anew  in  his  likeness. 

And  how  that  holy  beauty  mantles  the  Chris- 
tian more  and  more  as  he  starts  from  his  conver- 
sion and  grows  daily  in  grace;  living  nearer  to 
Christ,  and  bringing  thought  after  thought  into 
captivity  to  him !  How  it  sheds  a  new  loveliness 
upon  youth,  imparts  dignity  to  manhood,  and 
makes  hoary  hairs  like  a  glistening  diadem !  How 
every  way  beautiful  is  a  converted  life!  How 
more  than  beautiful  a  holy  death,  when  faith,  and 
love,  and  hope,  cluster  about  the  pillow^  of  the 
saint  like  a  halo,  never  so  purely  bright  and 
beautiful  to  our  eyes,  as  wdien  they  are  just  go- 
ing to  light  the  soul's  way  to  God ! 

Brethren,  these  are  some  of  the  beauties  of 
holiness  revealed  by  the  power  of  Christ,  like 
dew^-drops  by  the  rising  sun.  My  Christian 
friends,  wdiat  attractions  does  our  God  ascribe  to 
us !  I  fear,  indeed,  that  our  hearts  are  forced  to 
admit  that  this  Divine  beauty  is  soiled  and  marred 
in  us,  and  we  fail  to  reflect  the  loveliness  of  our 
adorable  pattern.  Then  let  us  endeavor  to  per- 
fect the  image  of  this  beauty  by  a  close  conformi- 


40  SOVEREIGNTY   AND   FREEDOM. 

ty  to  Christ,  by  humbler,  hoHcr  prayer,  and  a 
more  frequent  remembrance  of  our  first  love. 
There  is  but  one  way  of  holiness,  and  that  is  full 
submission  to  Christ.  His  j^ower  and  our  will- 
ingness, which  went  together  at  our  conversiun, 
must  abide  together  in  our  life — in  our  death. 
He  in  us,  we  in  him.  Let  our  holiness  be  from 
kim,  and  his  glory  shall  be  on  us. 

I  would  that  some  heart,  hitherto  rejecting 
Christ,  might  be,  this  day,  so  drawn  by  the  beau- 
ties of  holiness  as  to  seek  his  converting  grace. 
My  dear  friends,  think,  if  piety  be  of  so  winning 
beauty,  how  odious  must  be  the  deformity  of  sin ! 
Can  you  bear  that  moral  blur  on  your  natures  ? 
Will  you  go  to  your  grave  thus,  then,  to  stand 
up  before  your  Saviour,  face  to  face;  he  glorious 
in  his  beautiful  holiness,  you  repulsively  different 
in  every  quality?  Come  to  him.  It  is  the  day 
of  his  power,  of  rich  resurrection,  grace  able  to 
convert  you.  Do  not  some  of  you  see  him  on 
his  kingly  throne,  bending  his  sceptre  towards 
you,  in  token  that  he  designates  3^ou  for  merc}^ 
and  conversion?  Do  not  turn  away  from  the 
sign.  He  is  able  to  save  you,  but  not  against  your 
will;  Jesus  Christ  never  lost  a  soul,  such  is  his 
power;  but  many  a  soul  has  lost  Jesus  Christ, 
such  has  been  its  unwillin":ness. 


SERMON    III. 


THE    COVENANT. 


Psalm  iii.  5. 
"  He  will  ever  be  mindful  of  his  covenant." 

Nothing  can  bring  home  to  our  minds  the 
thought  of  God  so  nearly,  and  so  dearly,  as  to 
remember  that  he  is  a  covenant  God.  As  he 
manifests  himself  in  nature  and  in  the  dealings 
of  his  j)i'ovidence,  we  are  impressed,  and  some- 
times awfully  impressed,  but  not  attracted  and 
affectionately  won. 

Many  things  show  us  his  distinct  attributes 
operating  here  and  there,  and  always  operating 
wonderfully;  his  omnipotence  moving  in  one 
track;  his  omniscience  uttering  itself  in  another; 
his  omnipresence  flashing  forth  splendidly,  when 
it  is  most  required  and  least  expected;  his  jus- 
tice always  most  inflexible  against  a  world  in 
arms ;  his  truth,  clear  as  the  sun,  and  just  as 
constant;  and  above  all  these  separate  attributes, 
like  a  crown  of  glory,  his  sovereignty  constitu- 
4*  (41) 


42  THE    COVENANT. 

ting  him  God  and  Lord  of  all;  his  will,  the  uni- 
versal law,  and  all  his  infinitude  obedient  to  his 
will,  giving  no  account  of  itself  to  any  other  be- 
ing. 

This  is  the  way,  in  which  we  naturally  look  at 
God — a  great  and  sovereign  Lord  and  manager 
of  the  world,  whose  ways  are  past  finding  out. 
The  religion  of  nature  can  teach  us  nothing  better 
of  him  than  this — He  is  distant,  separated  from 
us  in  the  sublime  and  awful  loneliness  of  his 
glory. 

It  is  not  until  we  open  the  volume  of  his  re- 
velation, that  we  witness  anything  more  cheering 
to  human  want  and  weakness.  There  we  learn 
that  amazing  truth,  that  God  has  hemmed  in  all 
his  infinite  attributes  by  a  voluntary  restraint. 
He  has  bowed  the  heaven  of  his  glory,  has 
come  down  to  the  human  level,  and  entered  into 
a  mutual  compact  wath  man,  on  terms  of  equality. 
He  has  pledged  his  whole  perfections  for  his 
part  of  the  agreement ;  and  his  wdiole  sovereign- 
ty is  henceforward  bound  by  fixed  and  known 
terms. 

Here  is  the  great  value  of  the  Bible  to  the 
world,  viz:  that  it  makes  known  the  great  God 
as  a  covenant  God.  Herein  the  Bible  discloses 
the  depth  of  wisdom  wdiich  no  created  mind  could 
else  have  fathomed,  how  God  and   man  could 


THE    COVENi\JsTr.  43 

come  together.  Herein  is  the  Bible,  the  man  of 
our  soul's  counsel,  the  light  of  our  feet,  the  lamp 
to  our  path  in  the  pilgrimage  to  the  other  world, 
showing  us  how  to  be  saved.  Herein,  again,  is 
it  the  fountain  of  comfort  to  the  weary  and  op- 
pressed with  sin  and  woe,  pledging  all  Divine 
sufficiency  for  our  relief 

The  child  of  God  loves  to  contemplate  him  in 
the  covenant,  for  the  terrible  splendors  of  his 
presence  are  veiled  and  softened.  He  can  praise 
God  with  no  less  of  adoration,  and  with  vastly 
more  of  tenderness.  Thus  the  Psalmist  looked 
upon  him,  and  sang  his  honor :  "  I  will  praise 
the  Lord  with  my  whole  heart.  His  work  is 
honorable  and  glorious.  The  Lord  is  gracious 
and  full  of  compassion.  He  will  ever  be  mindful 
of  his  covenant.  He  hath  showed  his  people 
the  power  of  his  works,  that  he  may  give  them 
the  heritage  of  the  heathen.  He  sent  redemp- 
tion to  his  people.  He  hath  commanded  his 
covenant  forever.  Holy  and  reverend  is  his 
name." 

We  too  are  permitted  to  praise  the  God  of  the 
covenant,  and  to  this  happy  exercise  let  me  in- 
vite your  souls,  by  considering,  briefly,  the  history 
of  the  Divine  covenant  with  man;  then  its  na- 
ture and  conditions ;  and,  finally,  its  advantages. 
First,  the  history  of  the  covenant  begins  with  the 


44  THE    COVENANT. 

creation.  When  our  first  father  came  forth  liv- 
ing from  the  hand  of  his  Maker,  when  crowned 
with  blessings,  he  stood  the  sole  owner  of  Para- 
dise, with  a  mind  untainted  by  any  sin,  a  proba- 
tioner with  a  holy  will;  the  conditions  on  whic-h 
his  lot  was  based  were  those  of  a  covenant.  lie 
w\as  made  in  subjection  to  the  Divine  law,  and  it 
was  his  duty  to  obey.  There  was  then  no  im- 
pediment to  his  obedience.  He  had  both  the 
disposition  and  will  untrammelled  to  serve  his 
Creator,  with  his  body,  mind  and  soul.  This 
would  have  been  his  duty,  even  if  it  had  brought 
no  recompense.  If  his  life  were  only  to  last  but 
a  day,  and  then  cold  extinction  were  to  wrap  up 
his  being  forever,  it  w^ould  have  been  his  bounden 
duty  to  render  up  that  short  and  unhoping  life- 
time to  Him  who  gave  him  faculties  and  life  to- 
gether. To  live  for  God  who  made  him  and  who 
owned  him,  was  the  very  least  that  could  be  de- 
manded by  the  law  of  nature  and  of  reason.  To 
live  for  God  and  die,  was  all  that  nature  and 
reason  suggested. 

But  revelation  suggested  more,  because  it  was 
the  revelation  of  a  covenant.  God  came  near  to 
man,  and  holduig  before  him  the  rule  of  his  duty, 
told  him,  "Do  this  and  thou  shalt  live — live  im- 
mortally and  happily  with  me;  but  if  you  fail  of 
it,  the  consequence  will  be  death — the  death  of 


THE    COVENANT.  45 

your  soul,  and  an  everlasting  separation  from  me 
and  the  blessed." 

The  covenant  was  open,  just  and  honorable  to 
God  and  his  creature.  But  his  creature  dishon- 
ored it.  How  long  he  obeyed  we  are  not  informed, 
but  he  broke  the  covenant  and  forfeited  its  re- 
ward, and  that  forfeit  entailed  upon  his  race  the 
miserable  certainty  that  they  too  would  sin  and 
die. 

This  was  the  short-lived  history  of  God's  first 
covenant  with  man — the  covenant  of  works, 
whose  sublime  justice  and  wisdom  were  defeated 
by  man's  free-will  to  sin.  Then,  while  the  mis- 
ery impended,  there  came  from  the  thick  dark- 
ness a  new  revelation,  but,  like  the  former,  still  a 
revelation  of  a  covenant ;  not  now  a  covenant  of 
works,  but  of  grace — the  promise  of  mercy  to  the 
fallen  in  those  words  of  eternal  comfort,  "The 
seed  of  the  woman  shall  bruise  the  serpent's 
head."  It  was  not  only  a  new,  but  a  better 
covenant  than  the  former.  That  had  promised 
remuneration  to  toil  and  patience,  a  reward  to 
unfallen  and  unwavering  obedience ;  but  this  re- 
vealed a  hope  for  the  lost,  redemption  for  the 
ruined,  and  help  for  the  helpless.  If  that  were 
a  covenant  of  works,  this  w<'is  the  covenant  of 
grace,  described  by  the  prophet  in  such  encour- 
aging terms  as  these:  "Behold,  I  will  make  a 


46  THE   COVENANT. 

new  covenant  Aviih  my  people  after  those  days, 
saith  the  Lord;  not  accordmg  to  the  covenant 
that  I  made  with  their  fathers.  I  will  put  my 
law  in  their  hearts,  and  in  their  minds  will  I 
write  it,  and  their  sins  and  iniquities  will  I  re- 
member no  more;  I  will  be  to  them  a  God,  and 
they  shall  be  to  me  a  people." 

The  first  covenant  was  plainly  adapted  to  state 
of  man,  while  he  yet  wore  his  faultless  faculties 
like  a  garment  of  light  and  beauty;  while  his 
heart  was  piu*e,his  will  unbiassed,  and  every  power 
freely  his  own.  The  covenant  of  grace  was 
suited  to  him  no  less  after  the  noble  freedom  of 
his  powers  was  lost,  his  mind  degraded  to  the 
communion  with  sin,  and  his  heart  depraved  to 
unholy  loves.  All  that  he  needed,  originall}^,  in 
his  unfallen  state,  was  an  incentive  and  a  rule  to 
obey;  the  disposition  was  his  already. 

But  when,  alas,  he  had  fallen,  he  needed 
more — more  than  his  own  nature  could  beget,  or 
the  world  confer — pardon  for  the  sin  done,  power 
to  sin  no  more;  in  a  word,  a  new  heart,  a  Divine 
life.  The  new  covenant  did  not  abate  its  demand 
of  holiness;  it  required  the  condemned  sinner  to 
be  conformed  to  God  or  die,  but  then  it  did  not 
rest  in  an  outward  rule  and  an  olVered  recom- 
pense. These  would  have  only  aggravated  the 
woe  of  a  poor  creature,  who  knew  that  he  was 


THE    COVENANT.  47 

guilty^  and  had  no  power  nor  heart  to  be  other- 
wise. 

The  glory  of  the  new  covenant  is,  that  it  su- 
persedes the  outward  rule,  and  transfers  the  law 
of  holiness  from  tablets  of  stone  to  the  living, 
converted  heart.  It  makes  the  outward  holiness 
spring  from  an  inward  principle  wrought  in  the 
soul;  so  that  the  natural  grow^th  of  regeneration 
would  be  up  nearer  and  nearer  to  God's  own  im- 
age and  likeness. 

I  said  that  this  new  covenant  superseded  the 
old  so  early  as  Adam's  fall.  Yea,  in  the  fore- 
thought counsel  of  God  it  was  older  than  this; 
for  from  the  foundation  of  the  w^orld,  when  that 
sin  of  Paradise  w^as  darkly  shadowed  to  the 
Divine  foreknowledge,  this  grand  remedy  of  re- 
demption by  a  new  covenant,  was  just  as  dis- 
tinctly planned.  We  are  told  that  He  w'ho 
secures  to  us  this  covenant  by  sealing  it  w^ith 
his  own  blood,  the  great  incarnate  Saviour,  was 
in  the  Divine  determination  slain  from  the  foun- 
dation of  the  world. 

That  permitted  fall  of  Paradise  was  thus  made 
to  exhibit  more  illustriously  the  character  of  the 
Most  High,  and  bring  his  joined  attributes  into 
a  more  central  hght.  It  Avas  full}^  demonstrated, 
indeed,  w^hen  the  Saviour  paid  the  atoning  price 
for  our  souls'  rescue;  and  to  us,  upon  whom  the 


48  THE   COVENANT. 

ends  of  the  world  are  come,  it  presents  itself  in 
its  finished  form.  Its  plan  and  theory  are  fully 
revealed.  No  new  revelation  will  add  to  its 
conditions,  or  change  a  single  feature.  Every 
regenerate  believer  in  Jesus  has  tasted  its  ripe 
fruit  already.  Each  one  of  us  must  live  and  die 
by  this  covenant,  for  it  is  the  last  and  onl}^  one 
whereby  we  can  be  saved. 

Secondly,  let  us  dwell  a  little  then  upon  it, 
simply  as  it  is  a  covenant. 

As  a  covenant,  it  supposes  that  the  two  con- 
tracting parties,  God  and  man,  come  together 
upon  an  equality.  The  transaction  is  mutual, 
binding  each  party  while  both  are  true;  but  re- 
leasing either  when  the  other  foils  to  make  good 
his  word.  The  first  announcement  of  the  cove- 
nant is  in  substance  this : 

"Immortal  creatures,  sinful,  doomed  and  des- 
perate, the  God  of  Heaven  speaks,  '  Wh}^  will  ya 
die?'  "There  is  a  great  salvation  provided  for 
the  lost,  purchased  with  blood.  It  is  to  be  had 
freely,  without  money  and  without  price.  I  ask 
no  hard  conditions.  I  only  ask  that  you  would 
see  yourselves  as  I  see  you;  not  through  the 
medium  of  your  own  self-love,  but  in  the  light  of 
eternity,  as  it  will  shine  upon  your  death-bed. 
You  are  guilty ;  you  are  blind ;  you  are  corrupted 
in  your  souls.     I  only  ask  that  you  realize  your 


THE    COVENANT.  49 

condition,  and  come  with  this  conviction  to  the 
cross  of  the  bleeding  Emmanuel.  Look  up  to 
him  with  the  sorrow  of  your  felt  sin,  and  belie v- 
ingly  commit  yourselves  to  his  saving  power, 
for  he  and  I  are  one,  and  you  shall  be  saved.  1 
demand  only  this  faith  on  your  part;  while  on 
my  own  part,  I  pledge  each  and  all  of  my  infi- 
nite attributes  that  all  things  necessary  for  your 
need  shall  be  bestowed :  pardon  for  3^our  sin,  com- 
fort for  your  sorrow,  strength  for  your  weakness, 
grace  for  life  and  death,  and  joy  for  eternity, 
without  any  other  stint  than  your  capacity  to  re- 
ceive it,  or  any  other  condition  than  the  constancy 
of  your  faith  in  me." 

This  is  the  Divine  proposition,  and  every  can- 
didate for  salvation  accepts  it  simply  thus :  The 
answer  of  his  crushed  and  penitent  soul  is,  "Lord, 
I  will;  I  accept  the  offer;  my  sin  is  more  than 
I  can  bear;  it  cries  to  heaven;  I  am  powerless  to 
save  myself  from  the  accumulated  woe  of  so 
much  guilt ;  it  rolls  forward  in  a  mass  of  retribu- 
tion, gathering  blackness  as  it  comes,  and  I  am 
helpless  to  resist  or  to  escape  it.  I  am  lost  with- 
out a  Saviour,  and  if  thou  wilt  receive  such  an 
one  as  I,  so  unworthy,  here.  Lord,  I  surrender 
myself  in  faith  to  thy  covenant  of  grace.  If  thou 
wilt  take  me  as  I  am,  I  am  forever  thine." 

Now,  in  a  transaction  Mke  this,  which  is  sub^ 
5 


50  TIIE   COVENANT. 

stantially  the  process  of  salvation  to  every  saved 
creature,  it  is  evident  that  the  power,  the  grace, 
the  whole  efficacy  of  the  covenant  is  on  the  part 
of  God,  and  the  sweet  peace  of  believing  submis- 
sion is  only  from  grasping  the  promises  as  a  mere 
gratuity. 

Mark,  then,  how  all  this  freeness  of  blessing  is 
secured,  not  by  the  powder  of  man,  but  by  the 
character  of  God.  And  here  occurs  the  view  I 
have  already  suggested,  which  renders  God  in 
the  covenant  so  dear  to  the  Christian.  For  each 
attribute  of  his  is  condensed,  if  I  may  say  so,  in 
the  compact  w^hich  he  makes  with  each  believer. 
His  truth  fastens  his  promise  to  the  very  rock  of 
ages.  His  very  righteousness  holds  him  to  the 
forgiveness  of  our  sins.  His  omniscience  is  ever 
wakeful  for  our  interests.  His  almightiness  can- 
not wander  to  other  worlds  and  new  creations, 
leaving  this  lost  and  forlorn;  for  all  his  power  is 
distinctly  pledged  to  guide  and  govern  us  to 
glory — ^yea,  all  the  sovereignty  of  his  infinite 
freedom  has  narrowed  itself  to  act  not  arbitrarily, 
but  with  one  single  aim,  the  redeeming  of  our 
souls. 

All  these  attributes  make  him  mindful  of  his 
covenant ;  and  when  to  these  we  add  the  eternity 
that  enshrines  him,  his  dwelling-place,  his  na- 
ture's home,  which  makes  him  the  great,  unchange- 


THE    COVENANT.  51 

able  I  AM,  we  can  understand  the  Psalmist's  ex- 
pression, "He  will  be  ever  mindful  of  his  cove- 
nant." 

Thirdly,  now  let  us,  in  the  last  place,  consider 
the  value  of  this  sweet  truth  in  its  application  to 
life  and  practice. 

Take  first,  then,  the  occasion  at  which  I  have 
already  glanced,  the  first  coming  of  a  soul  to  its 
Saviour.  However  the  complexion  of  the  trans- 
action may  vary  in  different  cases,  its  substantial 
features  are  the  same  in  all.  There  has  been, 
with  every  Christian,  a  time  which  found  a  con- 
scious crisis  in  the  history  of  his  soul,  when  he 
first  closed  the  covenant  with  God,  when  the 
sense  of  his  perishing  want  brought  him  to  his 
Saviour.  Then  he  felt  the  lingeriag  unwilling- 
ness of  his  unbehef,  troubling  his  mind  with 
doubts  and  his  heart  with  fears.  He  was  not 
sure  that  salvation  was  for  him.  He  seemed  to 
himself  too  unworthy  to  hope.  His  self-condem- 
nation actually  threatened  to  be  more  fatal  to 
him  than  the  sentence  of  God,  for  the  Divine  ac- 
cusation was  joined  to  the  promise  of  hope;  but 
his  own  convictions  were  without  all  encourage- 
ment. At  that  hour  of  discouragement,  there  is 
no  reflection  so  productive  of  comfort  as  the  re- 
membrance, that  the  salvation  of  a  sinner  is  a 
matter  of  solemn  compact.     The  penitent  does 


52  THE    COVENANT. 

not  truly  sec  God's  countenance,  with  its  look  of 
reconciliation,  until  he  sees  him  as  he  is  in  the 
covenant.  Ilis  fears  abate  only  when  he  looks 
upon  the  Crucified,  and  beholds  the  awful  testi- 
monial of  his  safety  in  every  wound,  and  marks 
how  every  drop  of  blood  falls  like  a  new  seal 
iipon  the  covenant  of  peace.  His  doubts  dwin- 
dle as  he  gazes,  and  his  fears  die  out  as  his  love 
begins  to  swell,  until  at  length  he  is  ashamed  to 
doubt,  and  afraid  to  fear  any  longer;  and  with  no 
less  of  humility,  but  with  infinitely  more  of  hope, 
lays  himself  at  the  Saviour's  feet,  behoving  and 
happy. 

And  again,  this  process  is  repeated,  and  God 
in  the  covenant  becomes  precious  anew,  in  those 
periods  of  despondency  which  sometimes  befal 
the  best  Christians,  oftener  in  fact  than  they  be- 
fal the  worst.  They  may  come  from  the  conscious 
imperfections  of  our  religious  character,  even 
while  we  are  striving  to  live  near  to  God ;  or  they 
may  arise  after  a  long  course  of  backsliding,  when 
some  affliction  or  calamity  has  stripped  us  of  our 
self-complacency,  and  leaves  us  desolate.  Then 
the  life  that  is  gone,  seems  a  long  dark  omen, 
and  our  Christian  profession  a  long  falsehood. 
The  broken  vows  of  our  covenant  come  back 
upon  the  memory,  like  witnesses  of  perdition; 
and  the  dismayed  soul,  thrown  from  its  balance, 
knows  not  where  to  turn,  nor  what  to  do. 


THE   COVENANT.  53 

Gracious  as  God  is,  will  he  receive  tfiem  again 
who  have  so  wantonly  turned  his  grace  to  licen- 
tiousness? Although  a  Saviour  has  died,  yet 
have  they  not  crucified  him  afresh,  and  put  him 
to  an  open  shame  by  their  delinquent  lives  ?  Can 
there  be  hope  for  such? 

Yes,  my  friends,  for,  just  in  the  midst  of  this 
cloud,  there  is  a  rent  and  a  chasm,  and  through 
that  chasm  there  gleams  a  ray  of  light.  It  is  a 
beam  from  God — God  in  Christ — God  ever  mind- 
ful of  his  covenant.  Though  you  believe  not, 
yet  he  abideth  faithful.  He  cannot  deny  him- 
self He  is  pledged  with  all  the  stress  of  his  in- 
finitude to  save  you  if  you  will.  It  is  not  he 
who  has  failed,  for  he  has  beset  you  behind  and 
before,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  you,  whether  you 
would  or  not,  striving  to  save  you  because  he 
was  mindful  of  his  covenant.  But  it  was  your 
unfaithfulness  that  begat  your  fears  and  sorrows. 
You  ceased  to  trust  him,  and  relied  on  yourself. 
You  forgat  your  prayers — forgat  his  pleasant 
communion,  and  now  that  you  may  learn  how 
more  precious  is  the  covenant,  he  lets  fall  his 
chastening  rod,  and  you  halt,  and  lift  up  your 
unwonted  eyes  to  heaven,  and  remember  your 
own  broken  vows. 

It  is  you,  not  he,  who  have  been  unmindful 

of  the  covenant.     Can  he  forget  the  soul  upon 
5^ 


54  THE    COVENANT. 

Avliich  lias  ever  fallen  a  drop  of  his  Son's  precious 
blood  ?  It  is  not  so  easy  to  obliterate  that  mark.  It 
ingrahis  the  very  soul — that  blood  of  Jesus.  It  is 
the  mark  of  the  covenant,  and,  however  it  may 
be  disguised  by  your  errors,  or  covered  over  Aviih 
your  sins,  "  The  covenant  of  the  Lord  standeth 
sure,  having  this  seal — the  Lord  knoweth  them 
that  are  his." 

Go  to  him  then  in  the  assurance  of  faith,  even 
if  it  be  with  the  sadness  of  self-reproach,  and 
plead  with  him.  Plead  nothing  but  the  promise. 
Plead  his  past  mercies  as  the  reason  for  fresh 
compassion.  Dedicate  yourself  in  faith,  and  your 
rejoicing  spirit  will  join  with  the  Psalmist's  in 
proclaiming  that  ''  He  is  ever  mindful  of  his  cove- 
nant." 

Before  we  part,  let  me  point  out,  to  another 
class  of  persons,  the  bearing  of  this  truth  on  them. 
"God  is  ever  mindful  of  his  covenant,"  and  his 
covenant  is  that  he  that  cometh  to  him  by  Christ, 
shall  in  no  wise  be  cast  out,  and  "there  is  no 
other  name  given  under  heaven,  wdiereby  we  can 
be  saved." 

If  God  remembers  this  covenant,  what  shall 
that  remembrance  be  to  you?  Oh!  how  full  of 
disaster  to  the  soul  that  rejects  the  gospel;  Avho, 
on  some  unsound  pretext,  excuses  himself  from  a 
serious  attention  to  his  salvation,  and  trusts  to  an 


THE    COVENANT.  55 

unknown  mercy — shall  I  say? — nay,  has  no  trust 
but  upon  the  known  displeasure  of  God!  You 
choose  a  w^ay  which  God  has  not  chosen,  but  for- 
bidden. You  cast  yourself  off  from  a  covenanted 
salvation,  back  upon  the  original  condition  of  man 
without  a  covenant.  You  reject  a  Saviour,  and 
determine  to  be  tried  by  your  ovm  deservings. 
You  will  earn  heaven  for  yourself,  or  lose  it  en- 
tirel}^. 

Earn  it  for  yourself!  Will  you  abide  that  is- 
sue ?  Then,  alas  for  you !  for  so  sure  as  God  is 
pledged  in  every  attribute  to  be  mindful  of  his 
covenant,  so  sure  is  the  eternal  Godhead  pledged 
that  you  cannot  thus  be  saved. 


SERMON    IV. 


THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE. 


Revelation  iv.  3. 


"And    THERE    WAS    A    RAINBOW    ROUND    ABOUT     THE    THRONE,    IN 
SIGHT    LIKE    UNTO    AN    EMERALD." 

The  beloved  disciple  who  leaned  on  Jesus' 
breast,  was  permitted  to  enjoy  that  intimacy  long 
after  the  Sa^dour  had  returned  to  the  bosom  of 
his  Father.  lie  was  appointed  the  confidential 
prophet  of  the  New  Testament,  to  whom  was 
unfolded  the  whole  panoramic  history  of  the  gos- 
pel. Rapt  into  the  heavens  on  a  Lord's  day, 
his  spirit  surveyed  the  unutterable  glory  of  his 
Lordj  and  received  the  communications  of  his 
plans  to  an  extent  that  was  unrevealed  to  all 
the  world  besides. 

The  fruits  of  his  Sunday's  vision  are  described 
in  the  mystical  book  of  Revelation,  from  which 
we  have  taken  our  text.  Abounding  in  emble- 
matic speech,  this  book  utters  its  sayings  so 
darkly,  and  presents  its  oracular  truth  in  such  a 

(50) 


THE  EAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE.      57 

shadowy  form,  that  when  to  this  uncertainty  we 
add  our  own  ignorance  of  the  future,  it  is  ahnost 
impossible  to  determine,  in  every  case,  its  pro- 
phetic meaning. 

When,  therefore,  this  evangelist  undertakes  to 
show  us,  as  they  were  shown  to  him,  the  things 
that  shall  be  hereafter,  he  leaves  so  large  room 
to  be  filled  with  untold  details,  that  the  reader's 
mind  begins  to  throw  in  its  own  suggestions,  and 
fills  the  outline  of  the  picture  with  the  arbitrary 
lights  and  shadows  of  conjecture.  And  hence  it 
is  that  the  prophetic  delineation  is  so  differently 
represented  by  different  interpreters,  each  one 
colouring  the  prophecy  with  the  hues  of  his  own 
understanding. 

But  although  this  may  be  true  of  the  prophetic 
portion  of  this  book,  I  do  not  know  why  its 
other  parts  may  not  be  understood  as  well  as 
any  other  writing  which  employs  a  figurative 
style,  and  requires  only  the  natural  explanation 
of  its  metaphors  and  allusions;  its  doctrines  and 
its  precepts  may  be  intelligible,  however  poeti- 
cally conveyed,  and  when  understood,  are  just  as 
effective  as  if  their  language  were  altogether  un- 
adorned. 

I  trust,  therefore,  that  we  may,  without  any 
violence  of  interpretation,  learn  the  mind  of  the 
Spirit  from  the  passage  before  us,  rich  as  I  con- 
ceive it  to  be  with  Divine  edification. 


68      THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE. 

The  chapter  opens  with  an  account  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  vision  was  introduced  to 
the  prophet's  eye.  ^^  After  this  I  looked,  and 
behold  a  door  was  opened  in  heaven,  and  the 
first  voice  which  I  heard  was  as  of  a  trumpet, 
talking  with  me ;  which  said,  Come  up  hither, 
and  I  will  show  thee  things  which  must  be  here- 
after. And  immediately  I  was  in  the  spirit: 
and  behold,  a  throne  was  set  in  heaven,  and  one 
sat  on  the  throne.  And  he  that  sat  was  to  look 
upon  like  a  jasper  and  sardine  stone.  And 
there  was  a  rainbow  round  about  the  throne,  in 
sight  like  unto  an  emerald." 

The  apostle  then  goes  on  to  describe  the  celes- 
tial attendants  who  surrounded  the  throne,  and 
the  homage  they  devoutly  paid  to  him  who  sat 
upon  it,  crying,  Holy,  Holy,  Holy,  Lord  God  Al- 
mighty, which  was,  and  is,  and  is  to  come. 

But  our  immediate  attention  is  rather  due  to 
the  foregoing  passage,  in  which  he  describes  the 
theme  and  its  glories.  He  that  sat  upon  it  was 
like  a  jasper  and  a  sardine  stone.  "And  there 
was  a  rainbow  about  it,  in  sight  like  unto  an 
emerald."  In  this  highly  symbohc  description, 
I  think  we  may  find  a  profound  and  interesting 
Christian  doctrine;  in  the  person  of  him  who  sat 
upon  the  throne,  we  at  once  discern  the  majestic 
presence  of  the  Almighty.     If  we  may  suppose 


THE   RAINBOW   ABOUT   THE   THRONE.  59 

this  vision  to  be  the  same  with  that  which  the 
prophet  Ezekiel  beheld,  it  suggests  another 
truth  worthy  of  our  regard.  In  the  first  chapter 
of  that  prophet's  book,  twenty-sixth  verse,  he 
says  that  "upon  the  throne  which  he  saw,  was 
the  appearance  of  a  man."  Is  not  this  embodied 
presence  of  Jehovah  in  human  shape,  the  same 
Divine  being  whom  the  Scriptures  call  the  Son  of 
Man?  and  by  comparing  the  prophet's  vision 
with  the  evangelist's,  must  we  not  suppose  that 
since  the  unalterable  throne  of  heaven  belongs 
to  the  unchangeable  God,  who  will  not  give  his 
glory  to  another,  the  glorious  personage  to  whom 
St.  John  was  introduced  was  none  other  than  his 
once  down-trodden  Saviour,  but  still  his  incarnate 
God,  now  exalted  to  his  mediatorial  throne,  and 
wielding  the  sceptre  of  his  blood-bought  dominion 
over  the  world.  How  beautifully  does  this  side> 
light  of  evidence  bring  out  the  colouring  and 
deepen  the  impression  of  the  great  doctrine  of 
Christ's  Divinity,  showing,  in  an  incidental  way, 
that  it  is  the  magnificent  truth  of  heaven. 

Next,  our  attention  is  called  to  the  appearance 
of  this  august  personage.  "He  was  to  look 
upon  like  a  jasper  and  sardine  stone."  It  can- 
not be  determined  with  assurance  what  particu- 
lar gem  is  here  meant  by  the  name  of  sardine 
stone,  since  there  is  no  mineral,  which  in  our  time 


60      THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE. 

is  SO  designated.  But  from  the  best  evidence 
we  have,  it  would  appear,  like  the  jasper,  to  be- 
long to  the  agate  species,  admitting  of  a  high 
polish,  and  exhibiting  various  bands  of  bright 
and  gorgeous  colours  traversing  the  stone  in  pa- 
rallel directions.  The  meaning  of  the  simile 
then  would  seem  to  be,  that  amidst  the  general 
splendour  which  encompassed  the  Divine  pres- 
ence, there  were  discerned  the  distinct  hues  of 
God's  several  attributes  forming  the  very  struc- 
ture of  his  being,  pervading  his  whole  nature, 
and  girding  him  with  his  Divine  perfections  like 
so  many  bands  of  glory  and  beauty.  How  true 
a  similitude  is  this  of  the  manner  in  which  the 
Divine  character  is  exhibited  to  our  view ! 

When  we  look  into  heaven,  we  know  the  holy 
seat  of  God  by  the  flood  of  living  light,  that  is 
poured  forth  from  his  jDresence,  and  fills  the 
heavens  with  its  splendour.  And  at  the  first 
view  we  discover  nothing  but  that  vast  and  in- 
describable glory.  But  as  our  eyes  grow  accus- 
tomed to  the  vision,  and  we  gaze  into  the  midst 
of  those  bright  depths,  we  then  discern  the  dis- 
tinct ribs  of  colour,  which  show  the  place  and  the 
direction  of  the  varied  attributes  of  the  Godhead. 
We  learn  that  the  white  effulgence  that  encircles 
his  throne,  is  the  blended  light  of  all  his  several 
perfections,  which  inwrought  into  the  substance 


THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE.      61 

of  bis  nature.  There  is  the  pure  and  pearly 
lustre  of  his  holiness,  showing  the  spotless  excel- 
lence, which  loathes  iniquity  as  a  stain.  There 
is  the  bright  cerulean  band  of  his  gentleness,  his 
forbearance,  and  long  suffering,  that  men  gaze 
at  so  boldly  and  so  wantonly. 

And  then,  there  is  the  golden  vein  of  his  im- 
perishable truth,  shining  forth  with  the  warm, 
rich  splendour  of  the  most  precious  attribute  of 
God.  And  lastly,  there  is  the  deep  crimson  belt 
of  the  Divine  justice,  flashing  forth  the  gorgeous 
and  terrific  splendour  of  an  angry  God,  and  forc- 
ing us  to  associate  in  our  minds  the  Divine  dis- 
pleasure with  the  thoughts  of  blood. 

When  w^e  thus  survev  the  Divine  character, 
and  mark  the  distinctness  of  his  attributes,  we 
are  apt  to  fasten  our  attention  upon  one  or 
another  of  them  exclusively.  His  purity  im- 
presses us  alone,  and  we  shrink  and  hide  ourselves 
from  him,  because  we  are  so  unworthy  and  dare 
not  come  at  his  call.  Or  else  his  mercy  becomes 
the  quality  we  think  of  most,  and  we  presume 
upon  it  too  much,  and  grow  daring  in  our  mis- 
deeds ;  or  if  we  think  of  his  golden  truth,  it  only 
confirms  our  fears,  or  our  arrogance,  while  the 
sanguinary  hue  of  his  justice,  if  we  look  at  noth- 
ing else,  drives  us  to  despair.  This  is  the  effect 
of  looking  at  the  Divine  attributes  separately. 
6 


62      THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE. 

We  exalt  one  and  depress  the  rest.  We  learn  to 
think  of  the  selected  one,  as  if  it  were  the  whole 
of  his  character,  and  then,  when  we  bring  in  the 
thought  of  God's  sovereignty  and  almightiness, 
and  attach  it  to  the  favourite  attribute  on  which 
we  dwell  most,  that  attribute  seems  to  us  unre- 
strained and  lawless,  overriding  every  other,  and 
making  him  a  God  all  weakness  or  all  vengeance. 
Only  suppose  a  Deity  absolute  in  all  his  ways 
and  will,  liable  to  act  as  one  or  another  attribute 
shall  be  uppermost ;  suppose  an  uncovenanting 
God,  bound  by  no  promise,  pledged  to  no  plan, 
and  you  unhinge  the  whole  fabric  of  human  hope, 
you  throw  down  the  gate  for  licentiousness  or 
despair,  to  riot  and  lay  waste  the  soul  of  man. 
"Save  me,"  said  Martin  Luther,  "save  me  from 
the  hands  of  an  absolute  God. 

Now  to  meet  this  necessity  of  our  moral  na- 
tures, God  has  been  graciously  pleased  to  reveal 
himself  as  a  covenant  God,  and  this  I  suppose 
to  be  the  import  of  the  symbolic  description  of 
the  text,  "There  wa-s  a  rainbow  about  the 
throne."  The  rainbow  was  the  instituted  sign  of 
the  covenant  which  God  established  with  Noah. 
"  I  will  set  my  bow  in  the  cloud,  and  it  shall  be 
for  a  token  of  a  covenant  between  me  and  the 
earth.  And  I  will  remember  my  covenant  which 
is  between  me  and  every  living  creature  of  all 


THE   RAINBOW   ABOUT   THE   THRONE.  63 

flesh,  and  the  waters  shall  no  more  be  a  flood  to 
destroy  all  flesh."  Thus  God  bound  himself  by 
a  solemn  promise.  He  restrained  his  omnipo- 
tence. He  built  high  walls  to  the  path  of  his  dis- 
pleasure, and  pledged  his  whole  sovereignty  for 
the  safety  and  comfort  of  mankind.  But  he  has 
likewise  entered  into  covenant  with  us  for  our 
spiritual  life,  a  covenant  of  peace  and  of  salvation 
revealed  in  Jesus  Christ,  and  foretold  by  the 
prophet,  thus :  "  This  is  the  covenant  I  will  make 
with  them  in  those  days,  saith  the  Lord,  I 
will  put  my  law  in  their  hearts,"  and  "I  will  be 
to  them  a  God,  and  they  shall  be  to  me  a  people ; 
I  will  be  merciful  to  their  unrighteousness,  and 
their  sins  and  iniquities  will  I  remember  no 
more." 

Because,  therefore,  the  rainbow  was  the  world- 
wide token  of  God's  temporal  covenant,  it  is 
adopted  in  the  figurative  description  of  St.  John, 
as  the  sign  of  that  better  covenant  in  Christ 
Jesus.  And  thus,  from  these  words,  "There 
was  a  rainbow  about  the  throne,  in  sight  like 
unto  an  emerald,"  we  eliminate  this  beautiful, 
and  heart-cheering  truth,  that  the  High  and 
Mighty  One  who  sitteth  on  the  throne,  clothing 
himself  with  the  splendours  of  a  universal  sov- 
ereignty as  with  a  garment,  has  so  girdled  that 
throne  with  his  voluntary  covenant  that  he  is 


64:      THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE. 

pledged  never  to  use  his  sovereignty,  except  in 
the  prescribed  way  of  his  promise  and  his  oath. 
He  has  fixed  the  bounds  of  each  moral  attribute 
of  his  nature,  as  if  he  should  say,  "  Thus  far  shalt 
thou  come  and  no  farther."  He  has  bowed  the 
heavens  and  come  down  to  the  human  platform 
of  agreement  and  bargain.  He  has  entered  into 
terms  with  mankind,  which  last  as  long  as  this 
probationary  life,  and  these  terms  are  all  con- 
firmed by  him  with  an  oath  and  the  pledge  of  his 
Son's  life.  It  is  the  new  covenant  in  his  blood. 
On  these  securities  the  covenant  is  built,  like  a 
wall  of  flashing  adamant  about  his  throne,  to  hem 
in  the  absoluteness  of  his  sovereignty  and  to  re- 
flect back  his  faithfulness,  or  rather  like  a  rain- 
bow encircling  his  presence,  green  like  an  em- 
erald. 

This,  then,  is  the  general  import  of  the  text. 
Let  us  now  analyze  its  meaning,  and  vicAV  it  in 
its  parts. 

First,  then,  because  when  we  look  at  God  we 
behold  him  in  tjie  covenant,  there  is  no  room  for 
those  partial  views  of  the  Divine  character  of 
which  I  have  spoken.  It  is  not  in  the  jasper 
and  sardine  stone  that  he  chooses  to  present 
himself  to  us.  He  does  not  display  his  attributes 
in  the  separated  bands  of  light  and  glory.  It  is 
God  in  the  covenant,  God  as  he  has  bargained  to 


THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE.      65 

Tbe,  not  God  as,  in  his  absoluteness,  he  was  capa- 
ble of  being.  No  man  has  a  right,  God  has  not 
permitted  it,  to  insulate  the  Divine  attributes, 
and  brood  over  one  to  the  neglect  of  the  rest.  No 
man  may  sink  with  despair  at  his  absolute  vin- 
dictive justice,  for  the  covenant  is  a  covenant  of 
reconciliation.  No  man  may  basely  trample  upon 
the  Divine  tenderness,  as  if  it  had  no  limit,  and  no 
recoil,  for  the  covenant  declares  the  terms  on  which 
alone  his  mercy  shall  be  shown.  No  man  may 
rightly  shrink  away  from  the  Divine  holiness,  be- 
cause he  is  impure  and  guilty,  for  the  covenant's 
first  word  is,  that  heaven  is  satisfied  for  human 
guilt.  And  finall}^,  no  man  may  misuse  the  truth- 
fulness of  God,  to  countenance  either  his  fears  or 
his  presumption,  for  the  whole  faithfulness  of  God 
is  absorbed  and  concentrated  upon  the  mainte- 
nance of  his  covenant.  Yield  up  your  minds  then 
to  no  partial  view  of  God.  Lookto  that  bow,  set 
like  a  jewelled  canopy  above  the  throne.  Let  it 
mirror  forth  the  blended  beauty  of  all  his  attri- 
butes, and  when  you  would  understand  what  he 
is  to  us,  read  it  in  the  book  of  the  new  covenant. 
Again — The  covenant,  let  us  remember,  is  the 
covenant  of  God  in  Christ.  He  is  called  the  me- 
diator of  the  new  covenant ;  and  again,  "  I  will  give 
thee  for  a  covenant  to  the  people."  It  is  in  him 
and  his  blood  that  the  covenant  is  sealed,  and 
6* 


66      THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE. 

hence  it  is,  that  in  him  alone  God  manifests  him- 
self to  men.  This  is  beautifully  typified  in  the 
text.  The  rainbow  itself  is  formed  both  by  the  re- 
fraction and  the  reflection  of  the  solar  hght.  So 
that  the  insufferable  blaze  which  floods  the  sun's 
vast  disk,  is  first  broken  into  its  prismatic  hues, 
then  joined  in  the  sweet  and  tempered  colours 
of  the  bow,  and  reflected  to  our  eyes  in  one  tall 
earth-crown  of  mellow  light  and  beauty.  So  is 
it  in  Christ  Jesus.  Because  no  man  could  be- 
hold God  and  live,  and  men  turned  away  their 
scathed  sight,  he  revealed  himself  in  a  new  way. 
He  embodied  his  essential  brightness  in  the  per- 
son of  his  Son.  Upon  his  incarnate  nature  he 
poured  out  the  fulness  of  the  Godhead,  and 
every  perfection  of  the  Deity  entered  into  the 
person  of  Emanuel.  There,  like  the  flashing 
beams  of  heaven's  light,  the  brightness  of  the 
Father's  glory  was  refracted  into  its  primi- 
tive rays,  blended  in  soft  and  gentle  colouring, 
and  reflected  towards  us  in  the  mellow  beauty 
of  humanity  divinely  perfect.  We  can  gaze  up- 
on him,  and  not  be  overpowered  nor  dismayed. 
We  can  admire  the  intense  beauty  of  each 
Divine  attribute,  as  it  throws  forth  its  peculiar 
tinge  of  glor}^,  and  yet  we  cannot  tell  where  each 
one  begins  to  blend  with  the  next,  to  make  up  the 
collective  beauty  that  adorns  our  living  Saviour. 


THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE.      67 

In  the  life  of  Christ  we  behold  the  acting  out  of 
the  living  Godhead  in  the  perfect  display  of 
purity,  tenderness,  and  truthfulness,  joined  with 
the  most  holy  severity  of  justice.  And  in  his 
death  we  behold  him  the  patient,  as  he  had  been 
the  agent  of  all  these  attributes  of  God,  suffering 
them  even  as  he  had  practised  them,  offering  a 
God-like  atonement  and  sacrifice  to  justice,  in 
order  to  secure  the  covenant  of  peace. 

He  was  indeed  the  rainbow  of  the  covenant, 
gathering  into  himself  the  several  attributes  of 
God,  for  in  him  mercy  and  truth  met  together, 
and  righteousness  and  peace  embraced  and  kissed 
each  other.  In  him  alone  will  God  now  be  seen, 
God  in  Christ  reconciling  the  world  unto  himself. 
He  reaches  out  his  atonement  from  earth  to 
heaven,  and  spans  the  height  of  God's  sovereign- 
ty with  its  mighty  arch.  He  it  is  who  makes  the 
covenant  of  God  a  covenant  of  redemption,  and 
changes  the  seat  of  judgment  to  a  mercy  seat. 
In  the  rainbow  of  the  covenant  then,  behold  the 
atonement  of  your  Redeemer,  and  adore  the  God 
incarnate,  who  was  manifested  to  take  away  our 
sins. 

Again — As  the  rainbow  stands  like  two  radi- 
ant columns  upon  the  earth,  yet  reaches  its  crown 
up  to  the  skies,  so  does  the  covenant  join  our 
human  hopes  with  the  glory  of  heaven.     It  is  a 


68      THE  RAIXBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE. 

celestial  band  of  many  colours.  It  is  strong  with 
its  seven-fold  cords  of  holiness,  justice,  truth, 
love,  wisdom,  authority  and  power — strong 
enough  to  sustain  the  weight  of  a  world's  salva- 
tion. There  is  no  condition  too  abject  to  be 
relieved  by  this  heaven-descended  mercy.  It 
drops  its  bright  lines  of  comfort  along  the  hill- 
sides, and  into  the  depths  of  the  lowliest  vale  of 
human  life.  It  sheds  the  consolations  of  God  in 
Christ  into  the  soul  of  the  humblest  child  of  the 
earth.  It  is  no  arrogance  now  for  the  most  un- 
worthy to  aspire  to  a  place  with  God.  In  the 
mysterious  person  of  Jesus,  there  was  such  a 
union  of  the  Divine  with  the  human ;  God  incor- 
porating himself  with  man  in  a  joint  and  common 
life,  that  while  we  stand  amazed  at  the  phenome- 
non, we  learn  that  it  is  just  as  possible  for  man 
to  inherit  God  as  it  was  for  God  to  become  a 
man.  We  learn  that  no  height  of  glory  is  inac- 
cessible to  him  who  mounts  up  by  the  covenant. 
We  are  comforted  to  think  that  we,  standing 
here  upon  the  footstool,  may  look  up  to  the 
throne.  We  need  not  say.  Who  shall  ascend  up 
into  heaven,  that  is,  to  bring  Christ  down  from 
above — or  who  shall  descend  into  the  deep,  that 
is,  to  bring  up  Christ  again  from  the  dead  ?  Joined 
to  the  covenant  Emanuel,  we  are  one  with 
him  as  he  is  one  with  God,  and  because  he  lives, 


THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE.      69 

we  shall  live  also.  Let  no  Christian  then  des- 
pond in  surveying  the  loftiness  of  his  destiny. 
Stand  amazed,  indeed,  at  the  mighty  stoop  of 
that  majesty  which  bends  over  your  sinful  head 
the  bow  of  promise ;  but  do  not  mistrust  the 
mercy,  for  Christ  is  in  that  bow,  and  all  the  pro- 
mises are  yea  and  amen  in  him.  Moreover,  as 
the  rainbow  in  its  circuit  may  span  the  whole 
horizon,  so  is  the  covenanted  mercy  of  God  free 
to  whomsoever  will.  As  there  is  no  realm  on 
which  the  sun  does  not  shine,  no  region  of  atmos- 
phere where  its  beams  are  not  broken  up  and 
reflected  in  the  beauty  of  the  bow  in  the  clouds, 
so  there  is  no  nation  of  sinners,  and  no  latitude 
of  iniquity  to  which  the  covenant  does  not  offer 
peace  through  Christ  Jesus. 

He  came  to  be  the  propitiation,  not  only  for 
our  sins,  but  for  the  sins  of  the  whole  world. 
His  blood  cleanseth  from  all  sin.  The  invitation 
of  his  mercy  is  to  all.  "  Look  unto  me  and  be 
saved,  all  the  ends  of  the  earth,  for  I  am  God, 
and  there  is  none  else."  ''  Ho,  every  one  that 
thirsteth,  come  ye  unto  the  waters,  and  he  that 
hath  no  money,  come  ye,  buy  and  eat."  "  And 
the  Spirit  and  the  bride  say.  Come,  and  let 
him  that  heareth  say.  Come,  and  whosoever 
will,  let  him  take  the  waters  of  life  freely."  But 
let  us  not  pervert  the  freeness  of  mercy.     We 


70  THE   RAIM30W   ABOUT   THE   THROVE. 

would,  above  all  things,  impress  you  with  the 
truth  that  it  is  the  mercy  of  a  coA^enant. 

We  are  not  to  argue  that  because  this  grace 
is  so  large,  it  is  unconditional.  God  is  indeed  re- 
conciling the  world  to  himself,  but  only  in  Christ. 
He  is  able  to  save  to  the  uttermost  all  those,  but 
only  those,  who  come  unto  God  by  him.  The 
whole  work  of  redemption  is  transacted  by  the 
one  mediator  between  God  and  man,  the  man 
Christ  Jesus.  The  whole  Divine  authority  of 
pardon  and  peace  is  transferred  to  him,  so  that 
there  is  no  other  name  given  under  heaven 
among  men  whereby  we  can  be  saved.  He  is 
the  agent  of  the  covenant,  the  ambassador  of 
God. 

We  may  dislike  the  terms  he  proposes,  we 
may  resist  the  demands  he  makes.  We  may  re- 
fuse to  come  to  his  cross  to  be  saved,  as  guilty 
and  ill-deserving  creatures.  We  may  scorn  the 
absurdity  of  being  saved  by  the  merits  of  another, 
clothed  in  a  righteousness  that  is  not  our  own, 
and  hidden,  as  it  were,  from  the  searching  eye 
in  the  depths  of  a  Saviour's  sacrificial  worth. 
But  if  we  do  so,  we  delude  ourselves.  God  will 
transact  no  business  with  men,  but  through  his 
authorized  mediator.  Every  communication  from 
him  to  us,  is  onl}^  through  Christ,  and  for  his 
sake.     Every  petition  and  ajjpeal  from  us  to  him, 


THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE.      71 

must  pass  through  the  mediator's  hand,  and  be 
signed  with  his  cross  and  blood,  before  it  can 
reach  the  eye  of  the  King  of  kings.  No  prayer 
is  answered  from  the  court  of  glory,  unless  it  be 
seconded  by  the  silent  intercession  of  Christ, 
showing  his  hands  and  side  to  intimate,  "  Father, 
I  will."  "Let  it  be  done."  If  there  be  mercy 
with  God,  Jesus  is  the  day-spring  from  on  high, 
whereby  that  mercy  hath  visited  us.  If  God  be 
love,  yet  in  this  is  the  love  of  God  manifested  by 
giving  his  Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  him 
should  have  life,  and  he  alone.  I  do  not  say  he 
could  not  otherwise  show  mercy,  but  human 
reason  sees  no  way  without  infringing  his  justice 
or  his  truth ;  and  I  do  say,  with  stiU  more  assur- 
ance, that  he  has  not  only  told  us  of  none,  but 
has  declared  there  is  no  other  name  whereby  we 
can  be  saved  but  the  name  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 
Trust  not  then  to  an  uncovenanted  mercy.  Be- 
ware of  an  absolute  God.  Rely  not  on  the  un- 
pledged attributes,  but  the  promise.  Behold  him 
not  upon  the  throne,  but  in  the  rainbow.  Behold 
him  in  Christ,  and  be  saved,  for  God  out  of 
Christ  is  a  consuming  fire. 

Once  more,  our  attention  is  attracted  to  the 
description  of  the  rainbow  given  in  the  text,  "It 
was  in  sight  hke  an  emerald."  By  this  I  under- 
stand that,  amid  the  beauty  of  its  joint  colours, 


72  THE   RAINBOW    ABOUT   THE    TIIBONE. 

there  was  the  prevailing  hue  of  the  emerald,  re- 
freshing always  to  human  eyes,  like  the  colours 
of  the  forest  and  the  field,  and  showing  in  that 
bow  the  evergreen  of  the  covenant. 

When  everything  else  is  changing,  the  cove- 
nant of  the  Lord  standeth  sure,  having  this  seal, 
"the  Lord  knoweth  them  that  are  his."  All  out- 
ward dependencies  may  fail,  but  God  keepeth 
covenant  and  mercy  forever.  His  unwasting  life, 
fresh  and  almighty  as  it  was  in  the  back  ages  of 
infinitude,  is  signified  in  the  title  by  which  he 
used  to  enter  into  covenant  Avith  his  servants, 
"I  am  that  I  am."  The  constant  vigour  of  the 
covenant  is  confirmed  by  the  sanction  of  God's 
life  on  which  it  is  built.  Since  he  could  swear 
by  no  greater,  he  swore  by  himself,  "As  I  live, 
saith  the  Lord."  How  cheering  is  it  to  the  fluc- 
tuating feelings  of  the  child  of  God,  to  think  of 
this  evergreen  life  of  the  covenant  of  grace! 
When  the  whole  firmament  besides  is  torn  by 
the  storm,  when  a  sombre,  forbidding  hue  is  over- 
casting the  sky  and  the  earth,  as  if  its  black 
doom  were  about  to  come;  then  he  turns  towards 
the  bow  in  the  cloud,  and  its  hallowed  light,  be- 
tokening peace  amid  the  tumult,  shows  that  it  is 
from  God.  And  his  life  is  hid  in  God  because 
he  is  joined  to  Christ.  And  when  he  has  wan- 
dered from  the  straight  path,  and  fallen  into 


THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE.      73 

forbidden  ways,  and  begins  at  length  to  think  of 
returning  to  his  God,  it  is  an  encouragement  to  his 
weakness  to  remember  that  the  covenant  standeth 
sure.  His  own  altered  feelings  might  lead  him 
to  suspect  his  Father's  clemency.  But  the 
promise  is  perpetual,  and  the  covenant  is  everlast- 
ing in  its  green  beauty.  "  If  we  believe  not,  yet 
he  abideth  faithful;  he  cannot  deny  himself." 
The  backsliding  Israel  may  be  healed.  The  prodi- 
gal child  may  return  to  his  father's  house  and  be 
received  with  sumptuous  rejoicings,  for  the  eternal 
God  is  his  refuge,  and  his  loving-kindness  he  will 
not  utterly  take  from  him,  nor  suffer  his  faithful- 
ness to  fail.  Dear  brethren,  let  us  love  this  ever- 
lasting covenant.  Let  our  piety  be  as  fresh  and 
evergreen  as  the  emerald  of  the  rainbow.  There 
are  indeed  intermissions  in  our  comforts.  There 
are  times  when  the  bow  does  not  appear.  But 
in  the  sunny  hours,  when  the  light  of  God's 
countenance  fills  the  whole  firmament,  we  feel 
less  need  of  the  special  comfort  of  the  covenant. 
It  is  in  the  darkness  of  our  overcast  souls  that 
we  want  a  comforter  and  a  hope.  Whenever 
then  you  are  most  cast  down,  whenever  the  storm 
beats  hardest,  whenever  you  are  most  disturbed 
by  griefs  or  sins;  in  the  hour  of  your  pecuHar 
need,  you  will  find  the  covenant  nearest.  The 
sun  will  break  through  the  cloud  of  trouble,  and 


74      THE  RAINBOW  ABOUT  THE  THRONE. 

on  the  black  bosom  of  the  receding  tempest,  you 
will  see  the  mild  light  of  your  covenant  God  and 
Redeemer,  and  that  light  will  be  like  a  voice  to 
your  spirit,  "Fear  not,  I  will  never  leave  thee 
nor  forsake  thee." 

Let  us  remember,  moreover,  that  as  the  cove- 
nant makes  God  our  own,  so  likewise  it  binds  us 
and  ours  to  him.  I  entered  into  covenant  with 
thee,  he  says,  and  thou  becamest  mine.  In  the 
solemn  act  of  our  union  with  the  Saviour,  we 
renounced  all  other  righteousness  and  mentioned 
his  alone.  We  forsook  all  other  gods,  and  chose 
him  to  be  our  portion,  all  other  masters  to  live 
to  Him  who  died  for  us  and  rose  again.  Let  the 
green  hue  of  the  rainbow  typify  our  faithfulness 
as  well  as  his,  and  whenever  we  resort  to  the 
covenant  for  its  blessing,  let  it  be  with  a  spirit 
as  willing  as  that  which  we  implore.  When  we 
ask  God  to  be  faithful,  let  us  be  ready  to  renew 
our  own  dedication,  "Here  Lord,  I  give  myself 
away." 


SERMON    Y. 


THE  BRAZEN  SERPENT. 


John  iii.  14,  15. 


"  As  Moses  lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness,  even  so 
MUST  the  Son  of  Man  be  lifted  up,  that  whosoever  believ- 

ETH  ON  him  should  NOT  PERISH,  BUT  HAVE  EVERLASTING  LIFE." 

Our  subject  to-day  is  an  exhibition  of  the 
scheme  of  salvation  and  eternal  life.  Christ  and 
his  cross  are  all  our  theme.  We  are  to  compress 
into  this  brief  half-hour  the  consideration  of 
that  plan  which  was  conceived  in  eternity,  and 
ripened  by  the  growth  of  centuries.  We  are  to 
declare  the  message  which,  the  apostle  says,  is 
worthy  of  all  acceptation,  that  Christ  Jesus  died 
to  save  sinners.  It  is  an  ancient  story,  famihar 
to  you  as  a  tale  thrice  told.  It  has  been  pro- 
claimed to  many  thousands  of  perishing  creatures, 
and  although  it  speaks  only  of  love  without  mix- 
ture, of  mercy  without  solicitation,  and  of  salva- 
tion without  price,  it  has  been  rejected  to  the 
condemnation  of  very  many  whom  it  was  meant 
to  save.     A  stumbhng  block  to  the  Jew,  and  all 

(75) 


76  THE   BRAZEN    SERPENT. 

who  are  slaves  to  the  Jewish  pride,  foolishness 
to  the  learned  and  witty  Greek,  whether  found 
in  Europe  or  America;  our  doctrine  by  them  and 
such  as  they,  has  been  slighted,  as  if  it  were  of 
no  import,  scorned  as  if  it  were  contemptible,  or 
trampled  under  foot  as  if  it  were  odious  and  hos- 
tile. Yet  it  is  both  the  power  and  the  wisdom 
of  God,  combined  for  the  salvation  of  sinners, 
and  God  has  chosen  it  as  his  instrumentality 
to  reclaim  an  apostate  world.  Moreover,  it  is 
the  savour  both  of  life  and  of  death,  to  those  who 
hear  it.  There  is  garnered  up  in  it  a  redeeming 
wealth  and  power  to  buy  you  from  perdition, 
and  there  is  given  to  it  a  weight  which  makes 
your  downfall  heavier  if  ye  despise  or  reject  it. 
This  doctrine  of  Christ  and  his  cross  always  tes- 
tifies for  God  and  contrary  to  the  sinner,  so  that 
at  the  judgment  day  it  will  be  a  swift  witness 
against  the  impenitent,  and  it  had  been  better 
for  him  then  never  to  have  known  the  way  of 
righteousness ;  and  the  unevangehzed  will  have 
a  better  lot  than  he.  I  have  plied  the  arguments 
of  this  great  doctrine  so  often;  we  have  stood 
upon  this  corner-stone  of  all  saving  truth  so  long 
in  your  presence;  I  have  lifted  up  so  unwear- 
iedly  this  cross,  all  stained  with  hallowed  blood, 
that  I  am  not  without  a  misgiving  lest  some 
should  be  gospel-hardened,  and  should  tiu'n  your 


THE  BRAZEN   SERPENT.  77 

ears  away  in  disrelish  of  this  familiar  truth. 
But  it  is  not  one  blow  of  the  hammer  that  always 
breaks  the  flinty  rock,  and  the  minister  must  con- 
tent himself  to  urge  line  upon  line,  precept  upon 
precept,  in  the  hope  that  by  and  bye  there  may  be 
a  displacement  of  some  sinful  prejudice,  the  crush- 
ing of  some  guilty  passion,  the  yielding  of  some 
old  indifference,  until  the  whole  heart  of  stone 
shall  be  broken,  and  the  fountain  of  penitential 
tears  shall  gush  out.  Therefore  it  is,  when  the 
minister  pleads  with  your  souls,  and  so  often  tells 
you  of  Jesus  Christ  and  him  crucified,  because 
he  knows  it  is  heaven's  mighty  implement  of 
truth,  that  he  is  nerved  to  our  work  week  by 
week.  He  is  not  wearied  in  striving  to  save  you, 
because  he  hopes  that  ye  may  yet  be  saved. 
And  since,  if  ye  are  ever  saved,  there  must  be 
some  ministration  of  truth  to  save  jou,  I  call 
upon  you,  fellow  Christians,  to  pray  fervently, 
w^hile  I  speak,  that  I  may  not  speak  in  vain  or 
worse  than  in  vain.  It  may  be  that  this  half 
hour  may  date  the  immortal  bliss  of  some  soul 
now  without  all  hope. 

The  words  of  the  text  were  originally  spoken 
to  Nicodemus,  the  Jewish  ruler,  when  he  came 
to  Jesus,  and  they  held  their  memorable  even- 
ing's conversation  on  the  subject  of  the  new  birth 
of  the  soul.     It  was  a  strange  doctrine  to  the 

7* 


78  THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT. 

Jew,  and  he  demanded,  ^'IIow  can  these  things 
be  ?"  The  Saviour  explained  the  matter,  pointed 
out  the  method  of  regeneration,  and  preached  to 
him  the  cross,  the  doctrine  that  was  afterward 
like  a  firebrand  thrown  into  the  midst  of  the 
Jewish  Church.  He  exhibited  himself  as  the  aton- 
ing sacrifice  for  human  guilt,  declaring  that,  "  As 
Moses  lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness, 
even  so  must  the  Son  of  Man  be  lifted  up,  that 
whosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not  perish, 
but  have  everlasting  life.' 

The  text  contains  an  allusion  to  an  historical 
event  recorded  in  the  book  of  Numbers,  and  since 
that  event  of  the  Old  Testament  is  cited  to  ex- 
plain the  doctrine  of  the  new,  we  will  advert  to  it. 

In  the  21st  chapter  of  that  book,  from  the  6th 
to  the  8th  verse,  the  account  is  written  as  follows : 
"And  the  Lord  sent  fiery  serpents  among  the 
people,  and  they  bit  the  people ;  and  much  peoj)le 
of  Israel  died.  Therefore  the  people  came  to 
Moses  and  said,  We  have  sinned,  for  Ave  have 
spoken  against  the  Lord  and  against  thee ;  pray 
unto  the  Lord  that  he  take  away  the  serpents 
from  us;  and  Moses  prayed  for  the  people.  And 
the  Lord  said  unto  Moses,  Make  thee  a  fiery  ser- 
pent, and  set  it  upon  a  pole,  and  it  shall  come  to 
pass  that  every  one  that  is  bitten,  when  he  look- 
eth  upon  it,  shall  live." 


THE   BRAZEN   SERPENT.  79 

There  is  a  difference  of  opinion  whether  this 
transaction  was  arranged  by  Jehovah  to  be  typi- 
cal of  the  gospel  or  not;  and  whether  or  not  the 
minds  of  those  punished  Israelites  beheld  in  the 
brazen  serpent  an  emblem  of  the  Saviour  lifted 
up  upon  the  cross. 

But  it  is  a  question  we  need  not  consider. 
Whether  that  transaction  was  designed  to  pre- 
figure salvation  by  Christ,  or  the  resemblance 
was  afterward  discovered,  it  is  at  least  true  that 
a  resemblance  there  is.  The  Saviour  himself 
has  drawn  the  parallel.  He  has  compared  him- 
self to  the  brazen  serpent,  and  has  made  it  sure 
that  the  salvation  of  sinners  must  be  effected  in 
a  manner  analogous  to  the  healing  of  the  bitten 
Israelites.  I  know  not  how  there  can  be  any 
dispute  here.  I  know  not  how  the  abettors  of  any 
peculiar  systems  of  doctrine,  who  will  believe 
the  simple  words  of  Christ,  can  deny  that  what 
the  monumental  serpent  was  to  that  ruined  camp, 
such  is  Christ  to  the  wretched  host  of  transgres- 
sors. I  shall  attempt,  in  this  discourse,  to  show 
you  how  closely  the  parallel  runs,  and  although 
I  cannot,  in  our  allotted  space,  enforce  the  sever- 
al topics,  by  all  the  evidence  that  crowds  about 
the  subject,  yet  I  shall  endeavour  to  leave  you 
impressed  Avith  three  truths,  all  of  them  implied 
in  the  text^  aU  of  them  scriptural,  and  all  of  them 


80  THE   BRAZEN   SERPENT. 

highly  important  to  your  choicest  and  everlasting 
interest. 

The  first  of  these  is  the  picture  of  human  sin- 
fulness as  it  is  illustrated  in  the  condition  of  these 
distressed  and  dying  Israelites.  If  the  atone- 
ment of  the  cross  is  effectual  to  the  sinner  in  the 
same  manner  that  the  brazen  serpent  was  to 
those  sick  and  dying  men,  then  we  may  infer 
that  the  sinner's  condition  without  an  atonement 
is  much  like  theirs  without  the  divinely  appointed 
cure. 

And  what  think  ye,  my  brethren,  w^as  their 
condition?  We  might  make  large  drafts  upon 
our  imagination,  and  not  frame  to  our  minds  an 
adequate  conception  of  its  horrors.  But  you 
must  remember  they  were  encamped  in  the  wil- 
derness, and  their  camp  w\as  invaded  and  beset 
by  venomous  reptiles.  And  this  w\as  in  con- 
sequence of  their  rebellion  against  God.  They 
had  no  defence  nor  protection.  The  serpent 
might  spring  upon  them  from  his  coil  as  they 
walked  near  his  thicket.  He  might  crawl  be- 
neath the  folds  of  their  tents,  while  they  were 
lying  in  their  easy  slumbers,  and  plant  his  fangs 
in  their  flesh,  and  as  the  wound  and  the  smart 
awoke  them,  their  enemy  had  gUded  away,  and 
him  they  could  not  kill,  but  his  venom  they  re- 
tained.    Multitudes  were  bitten  and  diseased  by 


THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT.  81 

these  subtle  destroyers,  and  the  serpents'  bites 
were  as  when  a  pestilence  comes.  On  every 
side  you  might  have  seen  men  gasping  and  heav- 
ing in  the  last  mortal  struggle.  The  angry  pois- 
on was  foaming  in  every  artery  and  vein,  and 
running  along  the  capillaries  of  the  smallest  fibres. 
The  system  was  surcharged  and  swollen  with  the 
elements  of  death.  It  is  a  hideous  conception 
of  human  suffering,  but  you  know  how  quickly 
and  terribly  a  rattlesnake's  bite  causes  a  man  to 
stagger  blind  and  bloated  into  his  grave. 

We  are  startled  when  Jesus  Christ  intimates 
that  sinners  are  so  poisoned  by  the  moral  venom 
of  that  arch  serpent  Satan.  But  let  not  the  qualms 
of  sensibility  or  an  injured  self-complacency  for- 
bid us  to  gaze  right  at  the  living  truth.  Let  us 
muster  our  courage  to  encounter  this  vision,  and 
I  pray  God,  that  when  ye  see  your  danger,  ye 
will  long  to  hear  of  the  remedy  we  shall  present- 
ly tell  you  of. 

The  truth  of  the  Saviour's  analogy  then  obhges 
us  to  believe  that  men  have  been  sorely  bitten. 
They  would  rebel  against  God,  and  so  God  left 
them  to  the  invasion  of  their  enemy.  He  as- 
saults 3^ou  in  your  public  walk — rushing  at  you 
unawares  when  you  think  not  of  him,  and  so,  by 
some  overpowering  lust,  he  destroys  you;  or  else 
he  glides  out  into  your  path,  bites  your  heel,  and 


82  THE   BRAZEN    SERPENT. 

makes  you  stumble  and  fall  into  some  secret  sin. 
And  he  creeps  into  your  habitation,  and  there  he 
destroys  you  by  too  much  delight  in  other  than 
God.  Yes,  and  the  Christian  knows  right  well 
that  even  in  the  sacred  privacy  of  his  closet, 
when  he  thinks  himself  alone  wdth  God,  there, 
at  his  very  side,  is  the  serpent  coiled  up  w^ith  his 
glistening  eye  and  ready  fang,  to  fascinate  him 
wdth  spiritual  pride  and  worldly  desires,  or 
wound  him  with  blasphemous  thoughts.  You 
know  the  Scriptures  well  enough  to  know  I  do 
not  speak  extravagantly,  when  I  say  the  human 
race  is  poisoned ;  that  sin  has  struck  its  fangs 
into  the  moral  nature  of  man,  and  planted  its 
drop  of  venom  in  the  soul,  and  that  drop  is  sub- 
divided, and  transfused  through  all  the  channels 
of  moral  feeling  and  affection,  so  that  every  son 
and  daughter  of  Adam  have  inherited  this  tainted 
nature.  Do  they  not  love  other  things  than 
those  sacred  and  spiritual  objects  w^hich  Adam 
loved  before  he  fell  into  sin?  Is  not  the  con- 
science, wdiich  is  the  eye  of  the  soul,  so  bleared 
and  blinded  that  they  fail  to  note  and  follow 
the  will  of  God,  calling  good  evil  and  evil  good? 
Are  not  their  hearts  swollen  with  pride,  envy 
and  ambition,  and  their  souls  fascinated  with  the 
glitter  of  pomp  and  fantastic  fashion,  and  rich 
display,  and  lulled  with  the  music  of  reputation, 


THE   BRAZEN   SERPENT.  83 

just  as  men,  who  are  charmed  by  a  serpent,  are 
said  to  see  bright  colours  and  hear  sweet  sounds? 
And  are  not  some  giddy  with  prosperity  or  the 
hope  of  being  prosperous?  Just  so  the  brain 
reels  in  a  sort  of  delirium,  when  the  serpent  has 
bitten  a  man  and  the  poison  floats  up  into  the 
sensory. 

Indeed,  my  brethren,  if  ye  will  be  content 
with  God's  solemn  word,  we  may  say,  The  whole 
head  is  sick  and  the  whole  heart  is  faint;  and 
from  the  crown  of  the  head  to  the  sole  of  the  foot 
there  is  no  soundness  in  man's  moral  constitution. 
The  whole  world  lieth  in  wickedness,  and,  of  the 
unregenerate  and  uncured,  there  is  none  that 
doeth  good,  no,  not  one.  The  moral  exercises  of 
such  men  are  evil  continually,  and  so  desperate  is 
their  condition  by  nature,  that  the  Scriptures 
do  not  scruple  even  to  say.  They  are  dead  in 
their  trespasses  and  sins. 

This  teaching,  so  mournful,  of  the  Holy  Ghost 
has  been  echoed  too,  very  mournfully,  by  the 
experience  of  men  like  us,  and  yet,  perchance, 
better  men  than  any  of  us.  The  long-drawn 
sound  of  Christian  conviction  has  reached  us 
from  afar,  even  from  the  first  ages  of  the  church, 
and  has  put  words  into  our  mouths  to  use  when- 
ever we  draw  near  to  God;  and  as  you  and  I 
bow  down  here  together  and  speak  to  our  Father 


84  THE   BRAZEN   SERPENT. 

in  heaven,  and  confess  there  is  no  health  in  us, 
what  do  we  say  but  that  we  are  diseased  and 
poisoned  by  sin?  The  truth  is,  the  old  serpent 
has  bitten  us  all.  You  may  not  love  to  acknow- 
ledge it,  when  you  are  so  plainly  charged  with 
it,  but  3^ou  sometimes  give  an  unsuspecting  evi- 
dence that  you  believe  it  nevertheless.  For  you 
make  laws  against  the  outworkings  of  human 
corruption;  you  have  bonds  and  sureties,  and 
notes  of  hand,  and  bolts  and  bars,  and  prison- 
houses,  and  sheriffs,  and  men  of  war.  Why  is 
all  this,  if  it  be  not  because  you  cannot  trust 
your  neighbour  ?  Why,  if  you  do  not  believe  in 
human  depravity? 

Nay,  those  who  are  not  so  orthodox  as  you 
are,  have  acknowledged  it.  Even  the  sagacious 
infidel,  as  he  deems  himself,  who  would  fain 
sweep  away  this  .everlasting  record  of  God's 
truth,  the  Biblef^i3ecause  he  thinks  it  light  as  a 
cobweb,  a  tissue  of  absurdities,  the  chief  absurdity 
of  which  is  the  doctrine  of  man's  corruption,  even 
he  has  fairly  recognized  the  truth  which  lies  at 
the  threshold  of  salvation  by  Christ.  Has  not 
Infidelity's  most  philosophic  champion,  Jeremy 
Bentham,  in  his  system,  which  is  the  only  infi- 
delity of  modern  times  that  can  be  called  phi- 
losophy, because  there  is  none  so  thorough  and 
consistent,  and  compact  and  large — has  he  not,  in 


THE   BRAZEN   SERPENT.  85 

almost  this  precise  phrase,  declared  that  mankind 
are  prone  to  every  kind  of  vice;  and,  for  that 
reason,  constructed  a  system  of  ethics  in  order  to 
disenthrall  the  world  of  its  incumhent  iniquity? 
And  Bentham  wrote  by  the  light  of  all  history, 
when  he  declared  men  are  wicked  in  grain.  For 
I  might  challenge  you  to  show  the  spot  on  the 
shaded  surface  of  human  story  which  is  a  spot 
of  pure  brightness,  except  in  the  memoirs  of 
Jesus  Christ,  the  Divine  man. 

But,  my  brethren,  do  you  candidly  think  there 
is  a  soul  with  us  here  to-day  which  has  not  been 
bitten  ?  I  do  not  charge  you  with  being  idolaters, 
robbers,  adulterers,  murderers ;  I  must  find  my 
audience  elsewhere  when  I  would  lead  such  men 
to  Christ.  But  to  the  man  of  shining  morals,  and 
amiable  temper,  and  lofty  deportment,  and  withal 
of  a  clear  intelligence,  such  as  this  assembly  em- 
braces, the  question  is,  whether  you  are  not  by 
nature  unholy.  If,  instead  of  the  testimony  of 
men,  you  would  seek  a  better  knowledge ;  if  you 
would  remove  that  tissue  of  gentle  manners 
which  hides  you  from  the  world,  and  the  self- 
complacency  that  veils  you  from  3^ourself,  and 
just  suffer  a  stream  of  light  that  beams  from 
Jehovah's  great  law  to  radiate  your  conscience ; 
would  you  lift  up  your  head  from  that  inward  sur- 
vey and  say  the  serpent  had  not  poisoned  you? 
8 


86  THE   BRAZEN   SERPENT. 

^^y^  yo^  would  sing  another  strain.  You 
would  cry,  "  I  am  shapen  in  iniquity."  You  would 
look  fearfully  up  to  the  Holy  God  and  say,  as  a 
man  said,  who  was  thought  righteous  in  his  day, 
'•  I  have  heard  of  thee  by  the  hearing  of  the  ear, 
but  now  mine  eye  seeth  thee,  wherefore  I  abhor 
myself  and  repent  in  dust  and  ashes."  You 
would  see  "that  hideous  sight,  a  naked  human 
heart;"  and  while  you  felt  the  poison  flowing 
along  with  every  pulse  of  your  soul,  you  would 
cry  out,  "^What  shall  I  do  to  be  saved?'  The 
serpent  is  upon  me.  I  shall  die  of  liis  venom ! 
Oh!  is  there  no  cure?" 

Yes,  dear  brethren,  a  cure  there  is — ^bless  God 
for  it — "  for  as  Moses  lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the 
wilderness,  even  so  must  the  Son  of  Man  be  lifted 
up,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not 
perish,  but  have  everlasting  life." 

And  this  brings  us  to  the  second  of  the  three 
topics  we  were  to  examine  here,  and,  having 
surveyed  the  condition  of  sinful  men,  let  us  ex- 
amine the  remedy  which  God  proposes  to  ciu'e 
us  withal.  The  remedy  of  the  serpent's  bite, 
you  remember,  was  a  serpent.  That  which  had 
poisoned  the  Israelites  was  the  same  which  con- 
veyed the  cure ;  and  so  it  was  and  is  with  sin. 
Man  s  sin  was  the  venom,  and  so  a  man  brought 
the  healing.     The  first  Adajn  destroyed  us,  and 


THE   BRAZEN    SERPENT.  87 

the  second  Adam,  which  is  Christ,  gave  us  new 
sj^iritual  and  immortal  life;  and  "as  by  man 
came  death,  by  man  came  also  the  resurrection 
from  the  dead."  "As  judgment  came  by  one 
unto  condemnation,  so  the  free  gift  came  by  one, 
even  Christ,  unto  justification  of  life." 

Now  we  do  not  know  why  Jehovah  chose  to 
cure  a  serpent's  bite  by  means  of  another  serpent. 
We  cannot  tell  what  special  fitness  there  was  in 
making  the  destroyer  defeat  himself.  For  aught 
that  we  can  see,  it  had  been  quite  as  easy  and 
quite  as  beautiful,  if  God  had  silently  sent  into 
those  sick  bodies  a  new  stock  of  the  principle  of 
life,  and  so  helped  the  restorative  power  of  nature 
to  throw  off  the  poison.  The  labour  and  pains 
of  preparing  the  similitude  of  a  serpent  might 
have  been  spared,  and  the  pomp  of  this  public 
display  might  as  well  have  been  omitted,  perhaps, 
some  think. 

Yet  God  deemed  otherwise.  It  seemed  good 
to  the  councils  of  heaven  to  determine  that  the 
cure  should  proceed  in  this  manner,  and  in  no 
other,  so  that  if  any  self-sufficient  Israelite,  who 
was  insensible  to  his  danger,  had  ventured  to 
demur  at  such  a  method  of  cure,  he  had  lost  his 
life  as  surely  as  if  God  had  shut  up  his  ear 
against  the  pleadings  of  the  people,  and  refused 
them  aU  relief.      It  is  in  this  same  wav  that 


88  THE   BRAZEN   SERPENT. 

some  people  think  and  speak  of  Jesus  Christ  and 
his  salvation.  They  cannot  understand  why 
Jehovah  could  not  pardon  sin  and  heal  the  sinner, 
without  an  atonement  as  well  as  by  an  atone- 
ment. ^'Is  he  not  merciful?"  say  they;  "where 
then  lies  the  necessity  of  this  profuse  expendi- 
ture of  suffering,  this  pomp  of  Sjacrifice,  this 
blood-shedding  and  death  ?  Could  not  God  speak 
a  life-giving  word  to  the  sinner,  saying, '  Thy  sins 
are  forgiven  thee,  be  healed  and  live  forever;'  if 
he  could  do  so,  would  he  not?  I  am  displeased 
with  such  a  method." 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  defend  the  method, 
and  attempt  to  show  why  heaven  adopted  it, 
but  only  to  say  it  is  heaven's  own  method ;  and 
God  has  decreed  that,  since  the  sin  came  by  a 
man,  salvation  should  come  by  a  man;  neither  is 
there  salvation  in  any  other  than  he.  Where- 
fore, if  there  be  a  guilty  and  sin-poisoned  soul  in 
this  presence,  who  feels  so  little  the  wretchedness 
of  his  condition  that  he  can  cavil  at  the  plan  of 
salvation  by  the  cross,  while  he  may  claim  our 
Christian  pity,  I  have  nothing  to  answer  to  his 
cavils  but  "  Thus  saith  the  Lord,  there  is  no  other 
name  given  under  heaven  among  men  whereby 
ye  can  be  saved,  than  the  name  of  Jesus  of 
Nazareth;"  and  the  inference  is,  that  if  you 
reject  God's  method  of  showing  mercy,  you  arc 


THE   BRAZEN   SERPENT.  89 

as  surely  ruined  as  if  mercy  were  not  one  of 
heaven's  attributes. 

But  there  is  another  pecuharity  in  the  case, 
which  comes  before  us  while  we  are  considering 
this  remedy  for  the  serpent's  bite,  and  belongs 
equally  to  the  redemption  by  Christ. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  substance  from 
which  that  serpent  was  shaped  that  had  the 
power  of  healing.  Even  though  it  had  not  a 
venomous  nature,  we  can  all  perceive  there  was 
nothing  in  the  serpent's  dead  form  which  could 
cure  a  living  serpent's  bite.  And  yet  there 
flowed  out  of  it  such  healthful  influences  that 
the  man  who  believed  God's  word,  and  looked 
upwards  to  that  lifted  piece  of  brass,  found  him- 
self restored  and  w^ell. 

The  explanation  of  the  matter  is,  God  sent 
down  a  Divine  quality  to  charge  and  fill  that 
lifeless  effigy  of  brass,  so  that  the  serpent  on  the 
pole  was  to  all  that  people  as  if  it  were  God; 
and  so  God  cured  them  by  the  serpent's  form. 

Now  we  see  the  same  thing  exemplified  in 
Jesus  Christ.  It  was  not  possible  that  man  could 
atone  for  man.  What  is  human  blood  more  than 
the  blood  of  bulls  and  goats,  which  can  never 
take  away  sin?  What  inherent  power  is  there 
in  humanity  to  meet  the  perfect  demands  of  the 
divine  law?      How  can  a  creature  have  such 


90  THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT. 

superfluous  excellence  that  he  shall  make  amends 
for  all  the  sins  of  all  his  fellow-creatures  in  all 
time  ?  There  would  haA^e  been  no  healing  power 
for  sin  in  the  man  who  was  lifted  up  on  the  cross 
if  he  had  not  been  a  Divine  man.  It  wanted 
something  to  be  superadded  to  his  humanity,  and 
so  the  Deity  became  himself  incarnate;  and 
when  Ave  look  upon  the  person  who  was  crucified 
for  sin,  if  we  look  with  a  true  faith  we  behold 
not  simply  a  man  like  common  men,  nor  even  a 
man  wdiose  nature  was  pure  and  innocent,  and 
without  venom,  but  upon  a  man  in  whose  flesh 
was  tabernacled  all  the  living  energy  of  God; 
and  that  energy  flows  out  into  the  believer's 
soul,  and  heals  and  saves  him  from  his  sins. 

Very  great  is  this  mystery  of  godliness ;  God 
manifested  in  the  flesh,  seen  of  angels,  believed 
on  in  the  world,  received  up  into  glory.  But  if 
you  let  its  mystery  stagger  you,  so  that  you  re- 
fuse to  look  to  Ilim  that  is  lifted  up,  I  must 
repeat  it,  that  you  cannot  be  saved,  for  if  they 
escaped  not  who  refused  him  that  spake  on  earth, 
much  more  shall  not  ye  escape  if  ye  refuse  llini 
who  speaketh  from  heaven. 

lie  is  lifted  up  before  you  to-day,  as  it  were 
visibly  crucified  for  you,  and  I  desire  to  prevail 
with  you  by  the  virulence  of  that  sin  wherewith 
you  are  poisoned,  by  the  agonies  of  that  death 


THE    BRAZEN    SERPENT.  91 


that  follows  unforgiven  sin,  by  all  that  is  so 
delightful  in  the  healing  of  Christ's  blood,  and 
by  all  that  is  free,  gracious  and  easy  in  the  ap- 
plication of  the  remedy,  I  desire  to  prevail  ^Yith 
you  that  you  may  be  saved. 

But  our  subject  is  not  fully  surveyed  until  I 
have  spoken  more  of  the  ease  with  wdiich  the 
remedy  is  applied — the  topic  just  glanced  at. 

And  this  is  our  third  topic.  The  Israelites 
were  cured  by  a  look  at  the  brazen  serpent. 
"  It  came  to  j)ass  if  a  serpent  had  bitten  any  man, 
when  he  beheld  the  serpent  of  brass  he  lived" — 
and  just  like  this  is  the  sinner's  justification  by 
faith  in  Jesus  Christ.  The  prophet  knew  it, 
when,  in  the  vision  of  the  future  Saviour,  he 
cried,  "Look  unto  me,  and  be  ye  saved,  all  the 
ends  of  the  earth,  for  I  am  God,  and  there  is 
none  else."  And  the  Evangelist,  when  he  said, 
'*  To  as  many  as  received  him,  to  them  gave  he 
power  to  become  the  sons  of  God,  even  to  them 
that  believe  on  his  name."  And  faith  is  a  cor- 
dial acquiescence  in  God's  appointed  w^ay  of 
salvation.  It  is  the  submission  of  the  heart  to 
Christ.  It  is  the  casting  one's  self  down  at  his 
feet,  as  the  only  helper.  Faith  does  not  consist 
in  the  multitude  of  prayers,  nor  in  the  solemn 
determination  to  strive  to  grow  better,  nor  in 
fervid  desires  to  be  a  child  of  God,  nor  in  the 


\)J,  THE  BRAZEN   SERPENT. 

hatred  of  sin,  nor  in  the  strong  cryings  and  tears, 
nor  in  a  broken  heart.  It  consists  not  in  any 
thing  you  can  do  or  suffer — but  in  just  ceasing 
to  do  anything,  and  trusting  to  Jesus  Christ  to 
do  all. 

What  could  the  Israelite  do  for  his  own  resto- 
ration? Could  he  purge  out  of  his  system  the 
infection  of  the  serpent's  tooth  by  resolving  to 
do  so?  Could  he  cure  his  sickness  by  weeping? 
Did  the  poison  rage  less  because  he  writhed  and 
groaned  under  its  pains  ?  Could  he  save  himself 
from  dying  because  he  had  a  fervent  desire  to 
live?  No!  his  alternative  was  to  trust  to  the 
Divine  remedy,  and  suffer  God  to  save  him,  or  to 
die.  And  from  the  utmost  limit  of  the  Israelit- 
ish  camp,  whosoever  turned  upon  the  brazen 
serpent  a  single  look  of  trust  and  hope  was  healed. 
No  matter  what  the  stage  or  degree  of  his  sick- 
ness, he  was  healed.     It  was  a  mighty  salvation. 

Just  behold  the  swollen  limbs,  and  the  parched 
tongue,  and  the  glaring  eyeballs,  of  those  poisoned 
men.  Listen  to  the  incoherent  ravings  of  deli- 
rium. See  those  mothers,  absolutely  brutalized 
by  pain,  casting  down  their  infants  to  the  ground, 
and  pining  away  with  the  anguish  of  the  ser- 
pent's tooth;  and  the  babes  themselves  gasping 
with  the  agonies  of  tlie  mortal  infection.  The 
whole  camp  is  crowded,  like  a  field  of  battle, 
with  the  dying  and  the  dead.     All  at  once  a 


THE   BRAZEN    SERPENT.  93 

loud  cry  is  heard.  God  has  provided  a  remedy. 
In  the  sight  of  the  whole  camp  a  brazen  serpent 
is  lifted  up  on  high  One  single  look,  and  the 
cure  was  finished. 

The  distended  limbs  shrink  to  the  dimensions 
of  health.  The  eye  regains  its  lustre.  The  mad- 
dened brain  is  cooled  into  quiet.  A  new  life 
darts  through  the  frame,  and  the  restored  man 
rushes  to  his  feet,  and  flies  eagerly  to  bring  some 
dying  friend  within  view  of  this  conveyancer  of 
life;  and  the  mother's  instinct  is  strong  again, 
and  she  snatches  up  her  offcast  babe,  and  flies  to 
hold  it  up  before  the  brazen  serpent  of  salvation. 

Dear  brethren,  why  may  not  this  scene  of  res- 
cue and  rejoicing  be  re-enacted  in  this  house  of  God 
to-day?  Can  you  doubt  whether  you  have  been 
pierced  and  sickened  by  the  tooth  of  sin?  Can 
you  doubt  whether  your  souls  are  ruined?  If 
not,  then  the  value  and  power  of  the  remedy  you 
dare  not  doubt.  It  is  the  life-blood  of  God's 
dear  Son. 

The  manner  of  its  application  need  not  startle 
you.  Thousands  have  made  trial  of  it  and  are 
healed ;  and  they  are  now  rejoicing  with  their 
souls'  restored  health,  and  a  conscience  at  peace 
with  God.  They  would  gladly  bear  you  in  their 
arms  to  the  cross,  that  you  might  look  upon  the 
Saviour  and  live.  Eenewed  you  must  be,  or  you 
will  die.     You  may  be  renewed  here  and  now,  hy 


94  THE    BRAZEN    SEPREXT. 

casting  yourselves  upon  the  merits  and  mercy  of 
Jesus  Christ."  He  will  cleanse  you  from  your 
guilt,  and  procure  all  your  salvation.  It  is  his 
own  truth,  and  the  substance  of  Divine  revelation, 
^'He  that  believeth  shall  be  saved,  and  he  that 
believe th  not  shall  be  damned." 

If  I  should  preach  to  you  the  word  for  years, 
I  can  tell  you  of  no  new  doctrine  of  life,  no  other 
cure  for  sin.  If  I  should  spend  all  my  days  with 
you,  ministering  to  your  souls,  and  follow  you  to 
your  dying  chambers  one  by  one,  and  stand  over 
you  as  you  breathed  out  your  life ;  or  if  I  should 
be  called  to  go  before  you  into  eternity,  and 
should  give  to  my  beloved  flock  a  pastor's  dying 
testimony,  I  could  tell  you  only  of  that  by  which 
I  hope  to  be  saved — the  cross  of  Christ.  As  a 
dying  man  speaking  to  dying  men,  I  could  only 
lift  up  my  voice,  and  say  to  you,  "As  Moses 
lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness,  even  so 
must  the  Son  of  Man  be  lifted  up,  that  whosoever 
believeth  in  him  might  not  perish,  but  have  ever- 
lasting life." 

And  so  would  I  lift  up  my  voice  to-day,  and 
witH  a  more  than  usual  impression  of  eternity  on 
my  mind,  I  would  speak  to  dymg  men,  and  offer 
to  you,  in  God's  name,  a  free  and  instantaneous 
mercy  and  forgiveness.  How  can  ye  escape, 
dear  friends,  if  ye  neglect  so  great  salvation  ? 


SERMON    VI 


REPENTANCE    A    PRIVILEGE 


PART    I. 


Acts  xi.  18. 


"  They  glorified  God,  saying,  Then  hath  God  also  to  the 
Gentiles  granted  repentance  unto  life." 

Of  all  the  gifts  of  God  to  men,  of  all  benefits, 
great  or  small,  perhaps  we  could  not  name  a 
single  one  which  the  world  at  large  holds  in 
such  light  esteem,  as  the  precise  one  spoken  of 
in  the  text,  '^  Repentance." 

Nothing  on  earth  that  can  be  called  a  privilege, 
seems,  to  the  large  class  of  the  unspiritual,  to 
come  in  so  questionable  a  shape,  nothing  for  which 
they  feel  less  disposed  to  thank  God. 

There  are  gifts  whose  sweetness  is  so  much 
upon  the  surface  that  their  first  taste  is  pleasant. 
There  are  blessings  laid  at  our  very  thresholds, 
and  as  we  stumble  against  them  the  shock  of  our 
surprise  extorts  a  sudden  acknowledgment  of  the 
goodness  of  God.  (9^) 


96  REPENTANCE   A   PRIVILEGE. 

And  then  there  are  moods  of  mind  so  simply 
peaceful,  so  unmixed  with  anxiety,  that  all  men 
agree  to  call  them  joyful. 

It  is  to  such  a  condition,  that  men  in  general 
refer  when  you  speak  of  privileges  from  heaven. 
But  they  never  enter  upon  their  catalogue  of 
favours  that  state  of  mind  which  is  designated  in 
the  text. 

And  this  fact  reveals  the  opposition  between 
nature  and  grace,  of  w^hich  the  apostle  speaks, 
when  he  declares  that  the  natural  man  under- 
standeth  not  the  things  of  the  Spirit  of  God ; 
for  a  heaven-taught  mind  thanks  God  for  repen- 
tance as  a  boon. 

The  w^ords  of  the  text  were  the  unanimous 
utterance  of  the  Church  in  Judea,  when  they 
heard  from  St.  Peter  the  story  of  the  conversion 
of  Cornelius.  Strange  as  it  may  seem  to  unac- 
customed ears,  and  unsanctified  hearts,  we  must 
remember,  my  brethren,  that  they  uttered  the 
language  of  Christian  experience.  They  spoke 
what  they  did  know,  and  testified  what  they  had 
felt.  They  were  recently  come  from  the  trial  of 
their  own  souls ;  they  remembered  the  wormwood 
and  gall  of  blood-guiltiness  against  the  Son  of 
God.  The  echo  of  that  universal  cry,  "  Men  and 
brethren,  what  shall  we  do,"  had  hardly  yet 
died  away.     Their  spuits  were  yet  fresh  from 


REPENTANCE   A   PRIVILEGE.  97 

the  Pentecostal  baptism;  and  they  understood 
the  SAveetness  of  penitence  inspired  by  the  Holy 
Ghost;  a  special  grant  of  favour  from  God. 

Let  us  take  their  experience  as  our  authority, 
and  endeavour  to  elucidate  the  force  of  their  ex- 
pression. Before  the  annual  season  of  our 
humiliation  shall  pass  away,  let  us  endeavour  to 
learn  more  of  its  value.  We  will,  therefore,  un- 
dertake to  illustrate  this  truth  from  several  dis- 
tinct considerations. 

1st.  Since  repentance  implies  transgression; 
since  the  sorrow  for  sin,  like  all  other  sorrow,  is 
itself  a  pain ;  since  amendment  is  a  tacit  acknow- 
ledgment of  past  fault;  it  may  seem  almost  para- 
doxical to  say  that  repentance  is  a  privilege, 
when  contrasted  with  a  state  of  innocence.  Is 
not  he  happier  who  has  never  stained  his  soul 
with  impurity,  than  one  who  has  been  steeped 
in  pollution,  even  though  he  afterwards  emerge 
from  his  baseness  and  sin  no  more  ? 

Is  not  a  state  of  perfect  sinfulness  so  high  re- 
moved from  any  condition  of  guilt,  as  to  outgo 
all  comparison  of  privilege  ? 

When  viewed  in  the  abstract,  apart  from  the 
circumstances  of  our  condition,  there  seems  to  be 
a  convincing  force  in  the  very  statement  of  the 
question.  For  besides  the  demerit  of  transgres- 
sion, as  sin  against  God,  there  is  the  contamiua'- 
9 


98  REPENTANCE   A   PRIVILEGE. 

tion  it  entails.  And  we  cannot  say  how  low  its 
connections  may  descend.  We  cannot  tell  how 
deejD  is  the  pedigree  of  baseness  to  which  a  man 
allies  himself  when  he  joins  his  soul  to  a  sin.  It 
may  be  that  the  familiarity  with  degradation 
shall  disqualify  him  forever  for  the  highest 
purity.  It  may  be  that  the  breathing  the 
atmosphere  of  wickedness  may  have  tainted  the 
life  of  his  spirit  beyond  all  purgation.  The  very 
contact  with  guiltiness  may  have  infected  his 
nature  with  an  ill  savour  that  shaU  chng  to  it 
always.  It  may  be  that  one  single  transgression 
shall  be  like  a  weight  to  his  feet,  making  his 
career  of  improvement  lame  and  halting  forever. 

The  shock  of  one  sin  may  have  so  disturbed 
the  harmony  of  his  nature,  and  broken  some  of 
the  affinities  of  virtue,  that  they  shaU  never  be 
restored. 

It  may  be  very  plausibly  argued,  therefore,  that 
innocence  is  better  than  repentance,  and  that  the 
mere  childish  ignorance  of  vice  is  better  than  the 
wisdom  of  reformed  profligacy. 

If  one  should  say  that  the  sinlessness  of  Para- 
dise was  too  great  a  price  to  be  paid  for  the 
knowledge  of  good  and  evil,  and  that  Adam  was 
overreached  in  the  bargain,  it  would  be  venturing 
too  much  to  deny  it.  And  yet  it  is  only  when 
we  look  at  the  essential  nature  of  morals  that  we 


REPENTANCE   A   PRIVILEGE.  99 

can  say  so  much,  for  it  is  only  in  the  abstract 
view  of  the  case  that  it  is  wholly  true.  But  we 
are  not  to  argue  in  the  abstract.  There  are  cir- 
cumstances in  man's  condition  which  present  the 
subject  in  a  different  light. 

When  we  consider  innocence  as  the  require- 
ment of  a  system  whose  object  was  the  preven- 
tion, and  not  the  cure  of  sin;  when  we  remember 
that  innocence  once  violated,  could  not  by  that 
system  be  restored,  the  question  comes  to  us 
with  a  very  different  meaning.  The  question 
then  is  not,  "  Which  is  preferable,  innocence  or 
repentance,  freedom  from  sin  or  reformation 
after  sin?"  but,  ^^Which  system  is  best  suited  to 
the  condition  of  man  as  a  creature — one  which 
requires  unsinning  obedience,  but  holds  out  no 
remedy  for  a  fall;  or  that  which,  after  man  has 
fallen,  lifts  him  tenderly  up,  heals  his  wounded 
and  broken  nature,  and  places  him  again  on  the 
track  of  a  hopeful  probation  ?"  So  that  the  ques- 
tion results  truly  in  this,  "  Which  is  the  more 
favourable  system  for  man,  with  all  his  liabilities, 
the  Law,  with  its  requirement  of  a  perfect  sinless- 
ness,  or  the  Gospel,  with  its  free  invitation  to 
repentance? 

To  understand  it  better,  let  us  view  the  state 
of  the  moral  universe  without  such  a  system. 
Travel  back  to  the  period  when  creation  was 


100  REPENTANCE   A  PRIVILEGE. 

young;  when  over  its  wide  bosom  swept  the 
freshness  and  beauty  of  a  Divine  touch,  and  it 
seemed  glad  Avith  the  reflection  of  Divinity;  when 
the  sons  of  God  were  glad  in  sympathy,  and 
shouted  for  joy.  Not  a  blemish  marred  its  S3^m- 
metry.  No  malignant  touch  disturbed  the  har- 
mony of  its  laws.  No  footfall  of  the  evil  one  had 
crushed  a  single  plant  of  beauty,  or  trodden  out 
the  fragrance  of  a  single  flower.  Neither  had 
any  moral  mischief  unveiled  its  ugliness,  or 
stretched  out  its  withering  finger.  Man  was 
there,  but  as  yet  unsinning  and  pure.  This  is 
what  we  call  his  primeval  innocence.  His  im- 
pulses were  all  accordant  with  the  Divine  will, 
and  his  nature  in  harmony  with  an  untroubled 
universe. 

But  he  was  the  subject  of  Law.  There  was 
one  overruling  condition  on  which  his  happiness 
and  his  life  were  suspended,  and  that  was  obe- 
dience. He  was  bound  to  give  his  supreme 
devotion,  of  body  and  mind  and  spirit,  to  his 
Father  and  Creator.  Any  departure  from  this 
law,  a  single  act  of  sin,  would  instantly  pervert 
his  nature,  destroy  his  peace,  and  distort  his 
whole  condition.  Obedience,  perfect  obedience, 
would  lead  along  his  nature  in  an  immortal  ex- 
pansion of  delight,  and  an  endless  progress  of 
glory.     Nearer   and   nearer   to  God  would   he 


REPENTANCE   A   PRIVILEGE.  101 

approach  in  intenser  communion  of  love  with  all 
holy  and  noble  intelligences — his  life  would  be 
more  and  more  like  a  seraph's,  and  himself  more 
like  a  son  of  God.  Oh,  how  imagination  revels 
upon  this  thought  of  the  primeval  capacity  of  our 
nature,  and  how  freely  she  launches  away  into 
that  realm  of  imagined  innocence,  with  no  leaden 
doubt  to  clog  her  wings,  no  reasoning  to  restrain 
her  eagerness !  We  can  hardly  be  too  bold  in 
the  conception  of  that  perfect  state.  Picture  it 
then  as  we  please,  adorn  it  with  as  many  graces 
of  perfection  as  we  may,  and  set  it  before  our 
minds  at  last,  a  blissful  human  state — the  ques- 
tion is,  "Was  that  state  preferable  to  ours? 
Was  Adam  to  be  envied  by  us  ?  "  At  the  first 
summons  we  may  be  ready  to  answer,  "Yes." 
But  let  us  ponder  the  reasons  for  a  different 
reply.  This  condition  had  one  vital  want — 
security.  It  was  liable  to  be  too  easily  forfeited 
and  lost.  One  act  of  disobedience  would  deprave 
and  destroy  the  whole.  The  law  of  that  life, 
beautiful  in  its  purity,  was  nevertheless  terrible 
for  its  inflexible  authority.  It  was  armed  against 
transgression  with  all  the  awfulness  of  goodness. 
It  could  not  hold  a  compromise  with  disobedience 
without  disgracing  its  author. 

There  was,  therefore,  no  escape  from  the  un- 
changeable alternative  of  perfection  or  destruc- 

9* 


102  REPENTANCE    A   PRIVILEGE. 

tion.  And  you  sec  at  once  how  this  condition 
throws  an  uncertainty  over  the  bright  picture  of 
this  felicity  of  innocence.  You  see  how  the 
light  comes  tremulously  from  it,  shining  through 
that  mist;  and  while  we  gaze  upon  it  we  tremble 
lest  it  should  be  clouded  in  total  darkness.  Now 
this  was  the  inseparable  danger  of  that  state. 
From  the  very  nature  of  law  it  might  be  broken. 
From  the  very  nature  of  a  moral  agent  he  might 
break  it.  lie  was  liable  to  inducements  of  spirit 
and  of  body,  which  might  become  overpowering 
temptations.  He  had  a  power  of  choosing  be- 
tween right  and  wrong,  and  while  he  had  it,  it 
was  not  within  any  human  sagacity  to  be  sure 
that  he  would  not,  in  some  idle  moment,  in  the 
momentary  excitement  of  some  appetite,  overstep 
the  line  of  duty — turn  away  his  face  from  heaven 
and  fall. 

The  power  of  sinning  was  necessary  to  his  free 
agenc}^,  and  the  power  to  sin  is  the  twin  sister 
of  the  liabiUty  to  sin.  This  was  the  constant 
drawback  upon  the  privileges  of  his  state. 

So  long  as  he  might  sin;  so  long  as  he  was 
(encompassed  by  circumstances  which  might  con- 
troul,  and  invested  with  faculties  that  might 
deceive  him,  with  appetites  that  might  grow 
while  he  slept,  and  from  being  servants  change 
themselves  to  masters;  so  long  as  the  very  idle- 


REPENTANCE    A   PRIVILEGE.  103 

ness  and  repose  of  his  felicity  might  beguile  his 
soul  into  a  sleepy  forgetfulness  of  God ;  in  a  word, 
so  long  as  his  nature  was  finite  and  capable  of 
falling,  there  was  cast  over  the  beauty  of  his 
life  a  precarious  shade,  that  makes  us  sad  with 
the  sense  of  its  insecurity.  And  when  to  this 
uncertainty  of  obedience  we  add  the  inevitable 
doom  of  disobedience,  how  much  of  privilege 
seems  to  be  taken  from  this  state  of  innocence ! 
How  perilous  was  the  experiment  of  sinlessness ! 
How  like  a  blind  man's  walk  along  the  precipice 
seems  this  enterprise  of  life  without  repentance ! 
One  step  beyond  the  crumbling  brink;  one 
swaying  of  the  frame  from  the  upright  balance 
of  holiness;  one  casual,  momentary  thoughtless- 
ness might  betray  the  soul  to  its  ruin.  Truly, 
while  in  the  survey  of  man's  original  felicity  we 
are  impelled  to  adore  the  goodness  of  the  Maker 
who  fitted  him  for  such  bliss,  we  cannot  but 
mourn  in  advance  for  the  danger  to  which  a  finite 
nature  is  exposed,  under  any  experiment  of  law. 
We  naturally  turn  our  gaze  about  to  see  if  there 
be  no  easier  conditions  of  bliss.  We  lift  our 
eyes  to  heaven  to  humbly  ask  if  this  is  man's 
irrevocable  state.  Must  this  dark  omen  forever 
overhang  his  life  ?  Must  the  sweet  joys  of  his 
innocence  be  poisoned  by  this  constant  fear  of 
perdition  and  the  doom  of  disobedience?  Is  it 
both  inevitable  and  hopeless  ? 


104  REPENTANCE   A   TRIVILEGE. 

Is  there  not  a  weight  removed  from  our  spirits 
when  we  admit  the  idea  of  repentance  as  a 
remedy  for  this  evil  ?  Does  not  a  light  seem  to 
break  through  the  shadows  of  this  uncertainty- 
like  a  sun-rising  of  mercy?  How  far  better 
suited  to  our  w\ants  is  the  provision  of  pardon 
for  sin,  than  would  be  the  requirement  of  inno- 
cence, even  if  our  natures  Avere  pure  and  our  im- 
pulses holy ! 

Now,  remember  that  what  we  have  been  sur- 
veying together  as  possible,  is  mournful  matter 
of  fact.  The  career  and  trial  of  innocence  has 
been  acted  out  once  and  again.  The  very  dan- 
ger which  we  in  imagination  thought  so  formi- 
dable, has  overwhelmed  the  creatures  of  two  dis- 
tinct races  with  ruin.  The  angels  ran  the  gaunt- 
let of  that  trial  of  innocence.  They  undertook 
the  enterprise  of  a  sinless  obedience,  and  they 
fell  from  the  top  felicity  of  heaven.  And  if  any 
man  is  inclined  to  murmur  at  the  hard  demand 
of  repentance;  if  he  should  blame  the  arrange- 
ment which  suffered  him  to  inherit  a  sinfu 
nature,  and  to  be  betrayed  into  sin;  if  he  should 
say,  "Why  was  I  not  made  upright,  and  placed 
under  a  system  which  would  have  required  an  obe- 
dience that  I  could  then  easily  render?" — let  him 
turn  his  eyes  to  the  issue  of  that  experiment  of 
the  seraphim.    Think  you  that  if  a  herald  should 


REPENTANCE    A   PRWILEGE.  105 

proclaim  to  them  the  grant  of  repentance  they 
would  spurn  it  as  an  ofience  ?  If  this  were  made 
the  condition  of  their  release,  would  they  not 
seize  it  like  creatures  drowning  in  perdition  ?  If 
they  could  be  permitted  to  name  the  privilege 
which  they  most  craved,  would  not  the  pains  of 
their  long  penalty,  the  Divine  desertion,  the 
fierce  remembrance  of  their  early  joy,  all  combine 
in  one  burning  wish  that  God  would  tr}^  them 
again,  not  on  the  ground  of  sinless  perfection,  but 
on  the  probation  of  a  godly  and  broken-hearted 
repentance  ? 

But  they  are  not  the  only  probationers  whose 
history  shows  the  precariousness  of  innocence. 
Our  own  race,  in  the  person  of  its  sire,  has  ven- 
tured upon  the  same  trial  of  character,  and  every 
unrenewed  creature  of  that  race  is  yet  labouring 
with  its  consequences  in  the  aversion  of  his  heart 
from  God  and  the  fear  of  his  coming  doom.  And 
when  you  remember  this,  and  picture  to  yourself 
the  disastrous  condition  of  a  world  without  inno- 
cence and  without  a  Saviour,  would  it  not  come 
hke  a  welcoming  to  the  soul  to  be  told  of 
another  probation  for  man  ?  Would  not  the  offer 
of  repentance  seem  like  the  dove  and  the  olive 
branch,  borne  over  the  bosom  of  desolation  which 
has  drowned  the  world,  bringing  to  a  man's  soul 
a  promise  and  privilege  ? 


106  RErENTANCE    A   TRrv^ILEGE. 

I  say  not,  brethren,  that  God  preferred  sin  to 
innocence,  but  I  call  you  to  admire  the  ineffable 
wisdom  which  has  made  man's  downfall  the  basis 
of  his  salvation.  I  pray  you  to  adore  the  match- 
less skill  which,  out  of  the  most  forbidding  evil, 
has  educed  the  highest  good.  He  has  made  the 
wrath  of  man  to  praise  him.  He  has  made  our 
sin  to  be  the  feculent  soil  in  which  our  best 
hopes  root  themselves  and  grow  in  immortal 
vigour.  The  condition  of  each  one  of  us  is  this 
day  more  hopeful  than  if  sin  had  never  entered 
the  world.  We  should  be  this  day  less  blessed 
in  the  enjoyment  of  innocence  without  a  Saviour, 
than  we  are  with  all  our  sins,  but  with  the  privi- 
lege of  repentance. 


SEEMON    VI 


REPENTANCE    A    PRIVILEGE. 


PART  II 

Acts  xi.  18. 


"  They  glorified  God,  saying,  Then  hath  God  also  to  the 
Gentiles  granted  repentance  unto  life. 

We  have  thus  far  endeavoured  to  show  that  re- 
pentance is  a  privilege,  simply  as  a  part  of  a 
more  lenient  system  of  government  than  the  law; 
that  the  permission  to  be  saved  by  repentance  is 
more  favourable  to  human  nature  and  human 
hope,  than  the  permission  to  be  saved  by  an  un- 
deviating  innocence. 

Let  us  proceed  to  illustrate  our  subject  farther, 
and  show  that  repentance  is  a  privilege,  by  con- 
sidering what  repentance  is,  and  what  repentance 
does. 

Kepentance  is  a  privilege,  because  it  restores  our 
fallen  natures  to  the  likeness  of  God,  secures  for- 
giveness, is  a  joy  of  itself,  and  terminates  in  glory. 
The  very  idea  of  repentance  assumes  the  sinful- 

(107) 


108  REPENTANCE   A   PRWILEGE. 

ness  of  our  state.  Sinfulness  implies  alienation 
from  God.  The  moral  image  of  God,  originally 
stamped  on  the  human  heart,  was  effaced  by  the 
first  transgression.  When  man  fell  to  that  con- 
dition which  the  Saviour  touchingly  describes  as 
"lost/'  there  was  a  sad  declension  indeed  from 
many  inestimable  privileges.  But  the  noblest  of 
them  all  was  the  intimacy  of  man  with  his 
Maker,  the  assimilation  of  affections  and  the  one- 
ness of  sympathy.  The  separation  was  scarcely 
more  terrible  in  its  foretold  consequences,  than 
it  was  painful  to  be  contemplated.  The  palace- 
home  in  the  human  breast,  which  God  once  illu- 
minated with  his  presence,  was  now  a  deserted 
and  blackened  chamber,  where  only  dark  thoughts 
revelled,  and  dark  deeds  were  hatched.  The 
altar  in  the  heart,  where  holy  affections  used  to 
group  themselves  in  adoring  love,  had  become 
the  seat  of  an  evil  spirit,  who  changed  the  pure 
feelings  to  vile  affections,  and  turned  the  now 
deserted  temple  into  a  prison  house  of  lust. 
This  was  the  ruin  of  the  fall.  But  repentance  is 
restoration.  When  the  Holy  Spirit  descends 
within  the  soul,  and  awakens  it  to  repentance, 
the  struggle  that  ensues  is  the  conflict  between 
God  and  the  Evil  One.  That  soul  is  to  be  the 
victor's  trophy.  And  when  the  battle  is  over, 
and  the  repentance  is  complete,  the  face  and 


REPENTANCE   A   PRXVILEGE.  109 

form  of  that  soul  are  changed.  The  heart  is 
ilhiminated  agam.  The  Deity  has  made  his  new 
home  in  the  house  now  cleansed  and  garnished. 
The  likeness  of  Christ  is  restored  to  it.  ''  Thus 
saith  the  High  and  Lofty  One  that  inhabiteth 
eternity,  I  dwell  in  the  high  and  holy  place ;  with 
him  also  that  is  of  a  contrite  spirit,  to  revive  the 
spirit  of  the  humble,  and  to  revive  the  heart  of 
the  contrite  ones."  "  I  dwell  in  them  and  walk  in 
them,  and  they  shall  be  my  people  and  I  will  be 
their  God." 

It  is  the  indwelling  spirit  of  God  which  begets 
conformity  of  nature  between  man  and  his  Maker. 
This  conformity  is  threefold.  There  is  in  the 
(irst  place  a  unity  of  will.  What  God  from 
heaven  decrees,  God  in  the  soul  seconds  and  con- 
forms to  God's  expressed  will,  and  becomes  the 
rule  of  both  the  heart  and  life.  The  dispensa- 
tions of  his  providence,  whether  they  bind  him 
down  with  afflictions  or  lift  him  up  with  prosperi- 
ty, call  out  the  glad  consent  of  his  will,  to  be,  to 
do,  or  to  suffer,  whatsoever  pleases  the  Most 
High.  And  next,  there  is  the  conformity  of  his 
desires,  which,  gushing  out  from  their  fountain  in 
the  regenerated  heart,  fall  into  the  stream  of 
the  Divine  pui'poses,  and  flow  on,  merged  in  per- 
fect unity  and  conformity  with  his  heavenly  will. 
The  conscience,  which  is  the  school-master  of 
10 


110  REPEXT.VNCE   A   PRH'-ILEGE. 

our  soul  to  bring  us  by  the  Divine  law  to  Christ ; 
conscience  repeats  the  voice  of  God,  lays  its  rod 
upon  our  restive  passions,  spurs  our  sluggish 
feeling  of  duty,  admonishes,  excites,  commends 
or  reprimands,  not  from  the  hot  suggestions  of 
temptation,  but  from  the  Divine  oracles  and  the 
promptings  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  So  that  the 
soul  sees,  as  with  a  divine  eye;  traces  out  the 
bearings  of  moral  truth,  and  the  consequences 
of  moral  acts  by  a  heavenly  light,  weighs  the 
value  of  moral  principles  and  rules  in  the  bal- 
ances of  the  sanctuary,  and  brings  everything 
to  the  test  of  the  Divine  approbation.  So  the 
renewed  mind  has  the  mind  of  the  Spirit. 

And,  lastly,  the  affections,  the  faculties  by 
which  the  heart  loves  and  hates,  which  once  ran 
in  the  chase  of  sin,  but  always  stopped  and  started 
back  in  shivering  recoil  whenever  religion  crossed 
its  track,  they  too  are  renewed. 

Formerly  the  loves  of  the  heart  were  so  low, 
that  they  were  sometimes  debased  into  lusts,  but 
now  their  regenerated  life  reaches  up  to  heaven. 
God  is  their  noble  object — a  holy  life  their  con- 
genial end.  The  penitent  man  is  now  on  the 
same  footing  with  the  unfallen — a  friend  of  God. 
He  is  a  soldier  in  the  army  of  Jesus  Christ,  a 
member  of  the  family  of  heaven,  a  child  of  God, 
a  partaker  of  his  nature. 

Need  I  add  anything  to  show  that  the  repen- 


KEPENTANCE   A    PRrVILEGE.  Ill 

tance  that  confers  such  a  dignity  as  this  is  a 
privilege?  May  I  not  make  the  appeal,  not 
merely  to  the  heavenly-minded,  but  to  the  unre- 
newed? Would  not  the  most  besotted  sense 
perceive  an  exaltation  in  an  alliance  with  the 
Great  Being  of  the  universe  ?  Is  any  heart  so 
depraved  from  its  original  constitution  as  not  to 
feel  some  lurking  conviction,  clinging  to  it  like  a 
half  obliterated  remembrance,  that  there  is  gran- 
deur in  such  a  destiny  as  this?  Even  among 
the  ruins  of  this  broken  temple  of  the  soul, 
though  dragons  are  in  its  pleasant  places,  is  there 
not  a  lingering  echo  of  the  Divine  oracles  which 
testifies  that  to  be  admitted  to  Mount  Zion,  to 
the  city  of  the  living  God,  the  heavenly  Jerusa- 
lem, and  to  the  innumerable  company  of  angels, 
and  to  the  church  of  the  first-born  whose  names 
are  written  in  heaven,  and  to  God  the  judge  of 
all,  and  to  Jesus  the  mediator  of  the  new  cove- 
nant, is  a  privilege  ? 

Who  shall  say  that  repentance  is  not  a  privi- 
lege, which  changes  the  darkened  spirit  and  gives 
it  hght  from  heaven,  renews  the  decayed  spirit 
with  Divine  life,  purifies  the  polluted  spirit  with 
the  power  of  holiness,  lifts  up  the  fallen  spirit 
among  the  angels,  in  a  word,  transforms  it  into 
the  image  and  likeness  of  God,  and  makes  it  a 
temple  of  the  Holy  Ghost?  Such  honour  have 
all  his  saints. 


112  REPENTANCE   A  PRWILEGE. 

Thirdl}^  llepentance  is  a  privilege  because  it 
brings  forgiveness  of  sin.  If  1  had  followed  in 
my  remarks  the  natural  order  of  succession,  in 
which  this  subject  and  the  last  occur  in  the  Divine 
plan,  I  should  have  spoken  of  forgiveness  before  I 
had  mentioned  conformity  to  God.  For  doubt- 
less in  the  Divine  mind  the  act  of  pardon  is  ante- 
cedent to  the  full  conveyance  of  those  other 
privileges.  But  in  the  mind  of  the  penitent  him- 
self there  is  usually  a  consciousness  of  some  of 
those  renewed  affections,  even  before  he  dares  to 
trust  that  his  sin  will  be  forgiven.  I  have  chosen, 
therefore,  rather  to  follow  the  order  of  spiritual 
experience  than  of  the  Divine  purposes. 

I  say,  therefore,  that  repentance  is  a  rare  pri- 
vilege, because  it  is  the  single  chain  let  down 
from  heaven  by  which  we  may  climb  and  reach 
the  hope  of  forgiveness.  No  act  of  grace  could 
bring  a  lasting  comfort  to  the  soul,  which  was  not 
founded  on  a  pardoning  decree.  No  guilty 
creature  could  ever  enjoy  security,  even  in  his 
regeneration,  with  the  remembrance  of  unatoned 
guilt.  I  cannot  conceive  how  even  immortality 
could  be  satisfying  to  a  redeemed  sinner,  unless 
he  could  bind  to  his  bosom  the  covenant  of  for- 
giveness, sealed  with  the  blood  of  a  finished  atone- 
ment. It  is  unforgiven  sin  that  separates  be- 
tween the  Christian  and  his  God  here  on  earth, 


REPENTANCE    A    PRIVILEGE.  113 

and  drives  him  into  backsliding.  The  fear  that 
our  guilt  is  treasured  up  in  God's  memory,  and 
stands  unblotted  in  his  book,  casts  down  the 
soul  into  despondency.  It  breaks  the  wings  of 
our  devotion,  and  unnerves  the  whole  frame  of 
our  piety. 

It  is  likewise  the  certainty  of  unforgiven  sin, 
which  creates  the  strong  dislike,  in  the  heart  of 
an  impenitent  man,  to  the  thought  of  God.  He 
shuns  the  bright  countenance  because  he  knows 
it  is  unreconciled.  He  turns  away  from  prayer, 
because  prayer  brings  him  face  to  face  with  his 
sins.  He  wdU  not  reflect,  because  reflection  leads 
him  forward  to  his  last  account.  Sin  unpardoned 
embitters  his  inward  life,  and  adulterates  every 
blessing,  it  arms  death  with  its  sting,  and  covers 
his  eternity  with  a  black  pall.  As  sin  is  the 
enmity  of  the  soul  to  God,  so  pardon  is  the  slay- 
ing of  that  enmity.  Sin  is  the  wound  of  the 
soul,  forgiveness  is  the  healing.  When  you 
name  the  remission  of  sins  that  are  past,  there- 
fore, you  name  a  privilege,  fundamental  to  all 
other  enjoyment,  a  privilege,  too,  whose  value  is 
enhanced  by  the  difficulty  of  its  attainment.  For 
to  one  who  w^eighs  aright  the  true  evil  of  sin, 
there  is  nothing  so  improbable  as  its  forgiveness. 
Our  once  awakened  conscience,  clamouring  for  re- 
tribution, knows  nothing  of  forgiveness. 
10* 


114  REPENTANCE   A   PRWILEGE. 

Conscience  never  pardons.  Even  in  our  re- 
generation she  reproaches  us  with  oiu'  sins.  Even 
when  God's  reconciled  eye  bends  down  in  com- 
placency upon  us,  and  we  feel  the  thrill  of  that 
look  darting  through  us,  conscience  is  never  ap- 
peased. Even  in  the  flood  of  grateful  jo}^  that 
bursts  from  the  broken  heart  of  a  forgiven  peni- 
tent, in  the  first  assurance  of  mercy,  w^hen  he 
knows  the  wrath  is  averted  and  heaven  is  at  one 
with  him,  conscience  is  at  hand,  probing  him 
with  new  recollections  of  guilt,  and  admonishing 
him  that  he  deserves  no  pardon.  Conscience  it 
is  which  often  shuts  up  the  offender  in  the  de- 
spair of  mercy,  and  which  always  increases  the 
difficulty  of  apprehending  the  possibility  of  a 
pardon. 

Again,  the  law  of  God,  to  which  the  blindfold 
sinner  always  clings  for  salvation,  while  he 
spurns  repentance  as  too  hard  a  condition — that 
very  law,  by  uttering  no  tones  of  mercy,  renders 
that  mere}''  more  precious  when  it  can  be  had. 
In  this  predicament  of  despair  the  olfending  per- 
son is  left  convicted,  self-condemned,  inwardly 
punished,  and  fearfully  looking  for  judgment  and 
fiery  indignation.  And  here  descends  the  angel 
of  mercy,  with  the  grant  of  repentance  for  the 
remission  of  sins.  No  privilege  on  earth  can 
match  this  oiler,  of  which  neither  his  soul  nor 


REPENTANCE   A   PRIVILEGE.  115 

the  whole  world  besides  gave  him  any  promise 
or  suggestion.  But  repentance  is  the  gateway 
of  sah^ation,  beginning  with  forgiveness.  The 
plan  of  redemption  opens  itself  before  his  mind. 
He  sees  how  forgiveness  is  possible,  because  it 
was  purchased.  The  atonement  contradicts  the 
verdict  of  his  own  conscience,  and  answers  the 
demand  of  his  sin-stricken  soul.  His  repentance 
therefore  involves  an  act  of  faith  in  his  crucified 
Hedeemer.  His  worst  sin  has  been  unbelief  and 
rejection  of  Christ;  his  first  amendment  will  be 
the  surrender  of  his  soul  to  him  in  a  covenant  of 
peace.  This  is  the  sure  result  of  evangelical  re- 
pentance. 

Bearing  in  his  hand  the  promise,  he  goes  to 
the  mercy  seat  and  pleads  the  substituted  right- 
eousness of  his  Saviour.  That  name  always  pre- 
vails. His  blood  has  atoned.  The  condemna- 
tion is  reversed,  and  the  sinner  bears  away  the 
pledge  of  the  highest  boon  in  the  gift  of  God, 
the  Divine  forgiveness  and  forgetfulness  of  all  his 
sinful  life.  But  he  will  not  forget.  That  hour 
of  his  repentance  which  drove  him  to  the  cross, 
and  gave  him  back  his  forfeited  life,  shall  never 
die  out  of  his  grateful  remembrance.  Its  date  is 
hallowed  in  his  mind.  Its  periodical  return  will 
be  a  holy  day.  The  attendant  circumstances 
will  be  engraved  upon  his  memory.     The  friend 


116  REPENTANCE   A   PRIVILEGE. 

who  persuaded  liim,  the  affliction  that  aroused, 
the  sermon  that  first  broke  the  sleep  of  his  im- 
penitence, will  be  embalmed  in  his  most  heaven- 
ly thoughts.  It  was  the  crisis  of  his  destiny.  It 
was  an  epoch  in  his  soul's  history  that  shall  be 
luminous  above  other  events  among  the  remem- 
brances of  his  immortality.  For  its  happy  con- 
sequences shall  live  through  eternal  ages,  and 
as  the  series  travels  on,  the  blessings  of  that  for- 
giveness shall  be  as  fresh  and  fruitful  as  immor- 
tality itself.  lie  will  still  look  back  with  melt- 
ing of  heart  to  that  first  forgiveness,  and  will 
thank  God  again  who  granted  him  the  inestima- 
ble i)rivilege  of  repentance. 

Fourthly,  I  have  somewhat  anticipated  the 
reflections  of  this  branch  of  my  discourse,  by 
speaking  of  the  emotions  of  a  penitent  heart. 

But  I  will  add  in  the  next  place  that  repen- 
tance is  a  privilege,  not  only  for  what  it  brings, 
but  for  its  own  intrinsic  sweetness. 

I  do  not  speak  now  of  the  happiness  of  being 
forgiven,  but  of  the  satisfaction  of  repentance 
itself.  I  may  seem  to  utter  a  hard  saying,  but 
Divine  grace  has  explained  it  to  many  hearts,  and 
can  explain  it  to  yours.  When  repentance  is 
described  as  sorrow  of  heart,  as  conviction  of 
conscience,  as  brokenness  and  contrition  of  spirit, 
when  we  observe  it  so  often  expressing  itself  by 


REPENTANCE   A   PRIVILEGE.  117 

tears  and  sobs,  or  imperfectly  cloaking  its  feelings 
beneath  a  sad  and  thoughtful  countenance,  it  may 
seem  to  many  to  be  an  exercise  of  purest  wretch- 
edness. And  yet,  if  I  mistake  not,  it  creates  a 
delight  which  many  a  Christian  has  endeavoured 
to  reproduce  in  order  to  give  pungency  and  force 
to  his  subsequent  experience.  In  the  act  of  peni- 
tence there  are  combined  certain  motions  of  the 
heart  and  mind,  each  of  which  confers  a  separate 
pleasure.  In  the  very  convictions  of  our  con- 
science there  is  the  satisfaction  of  discovered 
truth. 

We  have  hitherto  lived  under  the  delusion  of 
an  ignorance  of  the  most  fatal  sort.  We  have 
been  blind  to  some  of  the  first  and  highest  truths 
of  moral  obligation.  We  have  been  unmindful 
of  God,  and  thoughtless  of  eternity,  and  carelessly 
ignorant  of  ourselves.  And  wdien  our  minds  are 
awakened  to  the  survey  of  this  circle  of  truths, 
whatever  alarm  they  may  excite,  there  is  yet  a 
deep  and  thoughtful  satisfaction  that  our  delusion 
is  broken  up.  There  is  a  conscious  elevation  of 
mind  in  discoursing  with  these  mighty  themes,  that 
beggars  the  importance  of  our  other  knowledge. 
We  seem  to  have  been  ushered  into  a  new  world 
of  thought,  and  its  momentous  subjects  engross 
the  spirit.  We  stand  before  the  throne"  of  God, 
we  listen  to  the  utterance  of  his  mind,  our  own 


118  REPENTANCE   A   TRrV^ILEGE. 

souls  expand  themselves  to  our  contemplation 
till  we  are  amazed  and  overwhelmed  at  the  vast- 
ness  of  their  destiny.  Sin  in  its  essential  evil, 
God  in  his  essential  righteousness,  are  revealed 
so  overpoweringly,  that  while  we  bow  down  and 
cry,  "  Unclean,  unclean,  God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner !"  we  would  not  exchange  the  triumph  of 
that  discovery  for  the  highest  bliss  that  could  be 
purchased  by  its  ignorance.  Our  repentance  has 
taught  us  a  love  that  human  philosophy  cannot 
fathom.  I  will  add  to  this  satisfaction  the  sweet- 
ness of  sorrow  for  our  wrong  doing,  joined  with 
the  pleasantness  of  reconciliation.  Have  you 
never  known  in  an  inferior  way  the  joy  of  which 
1  speak  ?  Have  you  never  been  alienated  from 
a  friend,  when  some  mutual  misunderstanding 
has  given  mutual  offence  ?  While  the  hard  feel- 
ings of  your  nature  were  uppermost,  you  had  no 
sweet  pathos  of  emotion.  But  when  your  pride 
was  quelled,  and  your  resentment  turned  aside, 
and  you  made  the  noble  resolution  of  apology, 
how  the  ice  of  your  heart  was  thawed!  The 
very  purpose  of  reconciliation  had  a  subduing 
joy,  and  when  the  friends  met  in  mutual  amity 
again,  there  Avas  a  gushing  of  tenderness  which 
to  its  generous  spirit  is  one  of  the  most  genial 
dehghts.  And  thus  it  is  with  a  repentant 
sinner  turning  to  his  God  and  Saviour.      The 


REPENTANCE   A   PRIVILEGE.  119 

very  purpose  of  repentance  has  melted  down 
his  soul,  which  was  hard  and  unbending  till  he 
resolved  to  confess  his  sins.  And  now,  in  the 
mellowness  of  his  emotions,  you  see  him  kneeling 
with  tears  and  sobs  in  private  communion  with 
God.  He  confesses  all — he  lays  bare  his  very 
heart.  He  takes  a  noble  and  generous  satisfac- 
tion in  doing  justice  to  his  injured  friend  and 
Saviour.  He  loves  to  avenge  his  honour,  even  at 
the  expense  of  his  own  cherished  sins.  He  has 
the  peaceful  consciousness  that  every  root  of 
bitterness  is  cast  out.  Though  he  knows  not  if 
he  shall  be  forgiven,  he  makes  no  condition.  He 
is  reconciled,  though  God  be  not — he  will  submit 
himself  to  his  righteous  decision.  In  the  warm 
tide  of  these  feelings  his  soul  is  dissolved;  he  is 
filled  with  the  extasy  of  utter  self-conquest  and 
submission  to  God.  As  you  look  curiously  and 
coldly  on,  you  might  suppose  that  his  heart  was 
a  fountain  of  unmixed  wretchedness.  The  tears, 
the  sobs,  the  spasms  of  emotion,  might  seem  to 
betray  an  inward  woe ;  but  you  would  misjudge 
him.  He  was  never  oppressed  with  such  a  weight 
of  bliss  before.  He  is  righting,  as  far  as  he  can, 
all  the  wrongs  he  has  ever  inflicted  upon  his  God 
— he  can  do  no  more.  This  is  his  joy,  and  earth 
has  no  feeling  to  match  the  pathos  of  its  deUght, 
and  if  heaven  be  only  like  this  he  will  be  satis- 


120  REPENTANCE   A  PRIVILEGE. 

fiecl.  It  is  the  joy  which  at  that  very  moment 
thrills  through  heaven,  and  bursts  forth  from 
angel  tongues  in  a  new  hallelujah  over  one  sinner 
that  has  repented.  A  child  of  glory  has  been 
born  of  that  travail,  and  this  is  the  bliss  of  his 
immortality  begun  with  his  repentance. 

Fifthly,  Let  me  add  a  concluding  reason  why 
repentance  may  be  regarded  as  a  privilege,  viz : 
because  it  terminates  in  everlasting  salvation — 
it  is  repentance  unto  life.  The  bliss  of  immor- 
tality begins  with  it  in  time.  It  is  true  indeed 
that  immortality,  unlike  this  mortal  state,  wiU 
have  no  sin,  and  therefore  no  new  repentance. 
But  immortality  is  only  the  fruit  of  which  re- 
pentance is  the  seed.  Heaven  is  a  consecrated 
heart  matured  in  piety.  Heaven  is  a  dedication 
to  God  confirmed  by  practice.  Heaven  is  the 
hatred  and  avoidance  of  sin,  begun  in  humiliation 
but  finished  in  glory.  Holy  affections,  just 
germinating  on  earth,  but  nipped  by  many  an 
untimely  chill,  and  broken  by  many  an  unfriendly 
temptation,  now  become  firm  in  the  presence  of 
God  and  clinging  to  his  throne — a  new  nature 
born  of  repentance,  grown  up  to  a  seraphic  man- 
hood ;  in  a  word,  a  trembling  child  of  sin  exalted 
to  be  a  king  and  priest  in  the  celestial  temple, 
and  only  a  younger  brother  of  Jesus  Christ. 

Heaven's  knowledge  is  the  perfecting  of  that 


REPENTANCE   A   PRIVILEGE.  121 

first  insight  of  Divinity  which  repentance  inspired. 
The  communion  of  glory  is  the  prolonging  of 
that  intercourse  between  the  sinner  and  his 
Saviour,  which  was  first  established  when  he 
first  repented.  The  rapture  of  bliss  is  only  the 
immortal  expansion  of  that  first  throb  of  sweet 
contrition.  The  everlasting  gratitude  of  redemp- 
tion began  in  the  closet,  and  the  everlasting  song 
of  free  grace  was  learned  upon  his  knees  at  the 
cross.  Such  is  the  value  of  repentance  in  pre- 
paring us  for  glory.  Uepentance  is  with  us  in 
our  meditations,  in  our  prayers,  in  our  praise. 
It  is  endeared  to  us  by  all  the  joys  and  sorrows 
of  Christian  experience;  it  is  the  companion  of 
our  pilgrimage,  and  the  handmaid  of  our  salva- 
tion; it  watches  over  our  dying  bed,  our  latest 
friend.  We  leave  it  behind  at  the  gate  of  heaven, 
never  to  meet  again.  It  returns  to  guide  other 
wanderers,  and  we  enter  upon  the  life  which  re- 
pentance opened  to  our  souls.  And,  in  the  words 
of  Rowland  Hill,  "If  we  may  be  permitted  to 
drop  one  tear,  as  we  enter  the  portals  of  glory,  it 
will  be  at  taking  an  eternal  leave  of  that  beloved 
and  profitable  companion — Repentance." 

My  friends,  the  time  is  coming  to  each  one  of 

us,  when  the  assurance  that  we  have  exercised  a 

true  repentance  will  be  a  better  consolation  than 

the  world  can  supply  besides.     The  consciousness 

11 


122  REPENTANCE   A   TRIVILEGE. 

of  a  heart  broken  for  its  sins,  and  surrendered  to 
Christ,  ^vill  give  you  a  peace  so  solid  that  not 
the  waves  of  death  nor  the  storms  of  judgment 
can  shake  it.  It  shall  be  your  staff  in  the  dark 
valle}^,  and  your  victory  over  all  foes,  and  your 
everlasting  privilege  and  joy. 

Christians !  let  me  beseech  you  then  to  lay  the 
foundation  sure.  Christians !  let  us  refresh  our 
religion  by  doing  our  first  works.  My  hearers, 
one  and  all,  begin  in  your  closets  to-night  the 
saving  work.  Let  there  be  a  sabbath  joy  among 
the  angels  of  heaven,  giving  new  glory  to  God, 
that  he  hath  granted  to  this  congregation  the 
repentance  which  is  unto  life. 


SEKMON    YII. 


RUTH'S    DECISION. 


Ruth  i.  16,  17. 

"  "Whither  thou  goest,  I  will  go  ;  and  where  thou  lodgest, 
I  TviLL  lodge  :  thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy 
God  my  God.  Where  thou  diest,  I  will  die,  and  there 
WILL  I  be  buried.     The  Lord  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also, 

IF  AUGHT  BUT  DEATH  PART  THEE  AND  ME." 

To  a  superficial  reader  of  the  Bible,  the  book 
of  Ruth  might  seem  a  foreign  and  useless  narra- 
tive. But  when  its  connection  with  the  other 
sacred  history  is  understood,  the  reason  of  its 
introduction  is  both  apparent  and  satisfactory. 
As  the  memoir  alone  of  a  single-hearted  woman, 
in  whom  the  gentle  affections  of  her  sex  were 
strong  and  uppermost,  it  might  win  a  romantic 
regard ;  but  from  its  association,  it  inspires  an  in- 
terest of  a  sacred  sort.  The  heroine  of  the  story 
was  a  personage  of  high  note,  as  well  as  of  lovely 
character.  She  might  be  called,  by  excellence, 
a  mother  in  Israel,  because  in  her  is  found  the 
parentage  of  that  line  of  David,  whose  last  and 

(123) 


124  ruth's  decision. 

glorious  issue  was  the  Eedeemer  of  men.  Through 
his  long  line  of*  human  ancestry,  Jesus  of  Naza- 
reth might  find  an  early  mother  in  the  gentle 
and  affectionate  Euth.  She  was,  you  Avill  recol- 
lect, of  the  daughters  of  Moab,  an  oblique  descend- 
ant of  the  Patriarchal  stock ;  but  she  had  b}^  mar- 
riage become  connected  with  an  Israelitish  family. 
She  was  now  the  widow  of  a  young  Hebrew, 
wdio  had  died  in  the  land  of  Moab;  and  whose 
mother,  Naomi,  was  now  about  to  leave  her 
adopted  country  and  return  to  Judea,  in  order  to 
cast  herself  upon  the  hospitality  of  her  kindred. 
As  Naomi  entered  upon  this  journey,  she  was 
accompanied  by  her  two  daughters-in-law,  Orpah 
and  Ptuth;  the  former  being  likewise  in  widow- 
hood. They  had  travelled  but  a  little  w^ay, 
when  Naomi  entreated  her  daughters-in-law  to 
return  to  their  home.  She  told  them  she  could 
ofl'er  them  no  attractions  in  the  little  town  of 
Bethlehem,  amongst  a  plain  and  unsophisticated 
people,  and  she  a  desolate  widow.  The  thought 
of  parting  with  their  widowed  mother-in-law  so 
affected  the  daughters,  that  they  lifted  up  their 
voices  and  wept.  They  wept,  yet  their  grief 
was  not  alike.  Orpah  thought  of  the  pleasant 
Moab  land ;  and  the  bond  of  old  attractions  was 
so  strong,  that  she  gave  her  mother  a  farewell 
kiss,  and  left  her  to  pursue  her  journey  as  she 
might. 


ruth's  decision.  125 

But  Ruth  clave  unto  her.  Earnest-minded 
and  true,  she  had  given  her  mother  her  heart, 
and  she  determined  to  cast  in  her  lot  with  Naomi, 
for  weal  or  for  woe ;  and  when  her  mother  said, 
^''Behold  thy  sister-in-law  is  gone  back  unto  her 
people,  and  unto  her  gods,  return  thou  after 
thy  sister-in-law,"  the  affectionate  daughter 
answered,  "  Entreat  me  not  to  leave  thee,  and  to 
return  from  foUoAving  after  thee  ;  for  whither  thou 
goest,  I  will  go;  and  where  thou  lodgest,  I  will 
lodge  :  thy  peo|)le  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy 
God  my  God.  Where  thou  diest,  I  will  die,  and 
there  will  I  be  buried.  The  Lord  do  so  to  me 
and  more  also,  if  aught  but  death  part  thee  and 
me."  And  so  the  friendship  of  Buth  and  Naomi 
became  indissoluble. 

I  scarcely  know  a  more  touching  record  of  sim- 
ple, earnest  love.  Beautiful  for  its  purity  of 
sentiment,  and  strong  in  its  devotion  of  purpose, 
we  pause  before  the  example  of  this  young  Mo- 
abitess,  and  feel  subdued  by  more  than  admira- 
tion. Her  tenderness  captivates  our  love,  while 
her  self-oblivion  fills  us  with  the  reverence  for  a 
superior  nature.  We  see  in  her  a  rare  blending 
of  moral  elements,  the  action  and  reaction  of  the 
gentle  with  the  earnest,  of  warm  affections  and 
delicate  sensibility  with  firmness  of  will.  The 
strength  of  her  affections  was  controlled  by  the 
11* 


126  ruth's  decision. 

power  of  determination,  and  the  energy  of  will, 
softened  and  refined  by  the  warmth  of  heart. 
On  the  one  hand,  her  benevolence  could  never 
degenerate  into  fondness,  nor,  on  the  other,  could 
her  firmness  ever  reach  to  an  unfeeling  obstinacy. 
She  would  be  instinctively  kind,  without  being 
weak,  and  quickly  sympathetic,  without  being  in- 
constant. These  are  the  prevailing  elements  of 
a  character,  at  once  lovely  and  efficient;  fitted 
best  for  the  mellow  joys  of  the  domestic  sphere, 
but  not  iucompetent  to  the  daring  of  a  heroine, 
and  rising,  on  occasion,  to  a  true  majesty. 

Contrast  this  character  a  moment  with  that  of 
the  other  daughter.  Orpah  was  a  more  common 
person.  She  had  sensibihty,  but  not  deep-laid 
aifection.  The  fountain  of  feeling  could  be  easi- 
ly unlocked,  but  it  was  quickly  exhausted.  An 
infirmity  of  wiU,  joined  to  a  weakness  of  the 
affections,  made  her,  at  any  moment,  liable  to  be 
swayed  and  driven  from  her  course.  Because 
her  resolves  had  no  anchorage  in  her  heart,  they 
never  rose  to  the  dignity  of  principles,  but  left 
her  only  a  character  of  mere  impulsiveness,  fitful 
and  uncertain,  and  no  more  likely  to  be  attracted 
towards  the  right  at  one  moment,  than  liable  to 
be  driven  impetuously  to  the  wrong  at  the  next. 
Tears  could  gush  readily,  but  the  feeling  evapo- 
rated with  tears.     There  was  a  quick  sensibility 


ruth's  decision.  127 

joined  with  essential  cold-hearteclness.  Such  is 
not  the  character  for  enterprize,  or  consistency, 
or  courage,  or  endurance.  Never  look  for  self- 
sacrifice,  or  cross-bearing,  or  holy  determination 
from  such  a  character.  It  is  too  superficial.  The 
soil  is  so  shallow,  that  piety  cannot  strike  its 
roots  deeply,  nor  shoot  thriftly,  nor  bear  rich 
fruits,  nor  survive  a  drought.  Orpah  could  weep 
upon  the  neck  of  her  mother-in-law,  and  with  a 
grief  that  seemed  at  the  moment  true  and  heartfelt. 
But  when  Naomi  suggested  the  thought  of  her 
return,  and  the  image  of  that  fair  land  of  her 
birth  was  drawn  before  her  mind — its  idol  gods, 
its  home  scenes,  its  gay  companions,  its  pleasures, 
all  bright,  though  godless — the  tide  of  pleasant 
remembrance  was  too  strong  for  her  affections, 
and  she  bade  her  mother  a  long  and  last  farewell, 
and  Orpah  became  again  a  Moabite.  We  do  not 
know  that  they  ever  met  again. 

It  was  just  the  occasion  for  magnanimity.  It 
was  a  crisis  that  would  overpower  a  weak  attach- 
ment and  try  the  fibre  of  a  strong  one.  That 
which  would  be  destructive  to  the  one,  would  be 
wholesome  and  invigorating  discipline  to  the 
other.  It  was,  at  all  events,  the  best  occasion 
for  the  development  of  character,  and  Orpah 
yielded,  but  Euth  was  firm.  The  trial  was  the 
same  to  her  sister  as  to  her.     There  were  friends 


128  RUTII'S   DECISION. 

in  Moab,  «ind  pleasures,  and  gaieties,  and  idol 
gods — old  attachments  and  tender  remembrances. 
There  was  joy  and  wealth  behind,  and  only  lone- 
liness and  poverty  before.  But  what  were  these — 
a  land  of  strangers,  a  narrow  home,  the  forsaking 
of  kindred,  and  the  denial  of  ungodliness  and 
worldly  lusts — what  were  all  these  to  the  power 
of  a  love  stronger  than  death?  Naomi  was  her 
mother,  and  Ruth  loved  her.  She  loved  her 
character — she  loved  her  society — she  loved  her 
God — and  she  knew  she  should  love  her  people 
and  kindred;  and  the  struggle  seems,  in  her 
mind,  to  have  been  rather  against  Naomi's  en- 
treaties, than  the  blandishments  of  her  fonner 
home.  She  could  resist  all  these,  with  the  ex- 
ample of  her  sister  besides;  and  so  she  clave  to 
Naomi  and  her  fortunes,  for  life  or  death. 

I  presume  you  have  already  anticipated  our 
application  of  this  story;  it  illustrates  so  aptly 
the  process  and  feelings  of  those  who  are  just 
turning  to  God.  The  starting  point,  the  motives, 
the  sacrifices,  the  aim  and  destination  of  the 
Christian,  are  all  represented  by  the  narrative  we 
have  reviewed.  The  children  of  God  are  journey- 
ing from  Moab  to  Bethlehem.  The  one  place  is 
the  home  of  the  soul,  where  God  dwells  and  his 
people  serve  him — the  land  of  promise  and  of 
final  peace.     And  Moab  is  the  ungodly  world, 


kuth's  decision.  129 

into  whose  customs,  society  and  pleasures  we 
were  all  born;  a  land  of  many  idols  and  sinful 
pursidts,  though  of  sweet  and  intoxicating 
pleasures.  It  has  its  rich  scenes,  its  entertaining 
companions,  its  exhilarating  moments  and  pas- 
sages of  life.  But  Moab  was  always  hostile  to 
the  true  God,  and  his  true  people.  It  was  by 
means  of  the  daughters  of  this  land,  that  Balaam 
betrayed  the  Israelites  into  idolatry.  It  was 
this  people  who  refused  them  permission  to  pass 
through  the  land,  on  their  pilgrimage  to  Canaan; 
and  God  denounced  upon  them,  in  after  years, 
many  sore  punishments.  There  is  peculiar  force, 
therefore,  in  the  analogy,  which  brings  the  world 
into  comparison  with  Moab. 

For  is  not  the  Christian  a  stranger  and  pilgrim 
here  ?  If  he  will  live  godly  in  Christ  Jesus,  does 
he  not  suffer  persecution? — if  not  by  open  vio- 
lence, yet  by  the  unholy  persuasions,  the  unfeel- 
ing reproaches,  the  offensive  criticism,  the  averted 
look  and  sneer  of  them  who  know  not  God. 
Does  not  his  heart  bleed  to  hear  the  name  of  his 
Master  dishonoured  and  blasphemed,  and  are  not 
the  people  of  the  land  given  to  the  service  and 
worship  of  idols — pleasure  or  ambition,  or  the 
lust  of  money?  All  of  us,  brethren,  have  passed 
some  3^ears  in  this  idolatrous  land.  But  if  3'Ou 
have  listened  to  the  Divine  call  of  bereavement, 


130  ruth's  decision. 

or  poverty,  or  friendlessness,  or  inward  dissatis- 
faction with  yourselves,  or  any  other  summons, 
then  you  have  taken  up  your  journey  and  set 
your  faces  towards  Bethlehem.  You  ha^-e  left 
behind  you  in  the  world  many  beloved  friends, 
husbands  or  wives,  parents  or  children,  who  re- 
fused to  follow  you  in  the  unpromising  journey. 
Perhaps  they  were  almost  determined  to  cast  in 
their  lot  with  yours.  At  least  they  must  have 
had  some  relentings  of  nature — some  inward  mis- 
givings at  the  thought  of  a  separation  that  might 
be  eternal.  It  is  true,  3^ou  are  personally  with 
them  yet;  but  in  heart,  and  spirit,  and  purpose, 
and  destiny,  you  are  very  far  asunder,  and  tra- 
velling fast  away  from  the  land  where  they  love 
to  find  their  portion.  Weep  for  them,  brethren; 
pray  for  them,  as  you  love  their  salvation;  but 
turn  not  back  after  them,  as  you  love  your  own. 
Again,  from  this  instance  of  the  narrative,  we 
may  understand  the  exercises  of  a  mind  just 
entering  on  a  course  of  piety.  It  is  evident  that 
there  was  in  the  mind  of  each  of  these  daughters 
of  Naomi  a  distinct  and  simple  act  of  choice. 
^' Where  thou  goest,  I  will  go,"  says  the  aflec- 
tionate  Huth.  All  practical  religion  begins  in  an 
act  of  choice.  I  do  not  mean  to  impinge  upon 
the  doctrine  of  the  Holy  Spirit's  agency  in  the 
renewal  of  the  soul.     The  minister  of  Christ  is 


ruth's  decision.  131 

contented  and  thankful  to  refer  tlie  glory  of  a 
souFs  salvation  to  Divine  grace  alone.  When  he 
would  gather  up  the  flowers  and  fruits  of  grace, 
wheresoever  found — whether  in  the  large  suc- 
cesses of  the  Gospel,  or  in  the  awakening  and 
sanctifying  of  the  individual  man — whatsoever 
be  their  excellence  and  their  worth,  he  would 
attribute  nothing  to  human  merit.  He  would 
twine  all  those  graces  of  piety  and  salvation  into 
a  wreath  of  imperishable  beauty,  but  not  for  the 
adornment  of  any  human  monument — not  as  a 
chaplet  of  honour  to  any  human  reputation. 
But  he  would  move  most  humbly,  on  his  knees, 
to  the  very  footstool  of  Jehovah,  and  bow  his 
head  in  lowliness  to  the  earth,  as  he  reached  up 
and  placed  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  throne  this 
trophy  to  sovereign  grace;  and  the  voice  of  his 
tremulous  exultation  should  be,  "Not  unto  us — 
not  unto  us — but  unto  thy  name  be  the  praise 
for  evermore."  But  the  acknowledgment  of  one 
true  doctrine  does  not  conflict  w^ith  the  reception 
of  another  doctrine,  equally  true.  And  it  is 
evident,  from  the  most  satisfactory  proof,  that  all 
practical  godliness  begins  in  an  act  of  choice. 
There  may  be  most  powerful  awakenings,  and 
urgent  desires,  and  tears,  and  groans,  and 
prayers ;  yet  these  all  never  brought  grace  and 
conversion  to  the  soul  of  man,  nor  gave  him 


132  ruth's  decision. 

salvation  in  heaven.  These  may  impel  a  sinner 
tip  to  the  very  line  of  decision ;  and  yet,  with  the 
strongest  agony  of  conviction — with  an  entire 
rending  of  his  spirit — he  is  not  a  Christian,  until 
he  oversteps  that  line,  and  plants  his  feet  firmly 
on  the  side  of  godliness. 

And  this  one  step  is  his  ow^n.  Hitherto  he 
has  been  passive.  In  all  the  previous  steps  of 
the  process  he  has  been  acted  upon.  His  con- 
victions w^ere  involuntary — his  pains  he  could 
not  help — his  tears  were  made  to  flow  by  the 
violence  of  his  pains.  These  are  affections,  not 
action;  and  for  these  he  is  not  directly  respon- 
sible. But  the  choice  is  his.  The  last  determi- 
nation is  voluntary.  He  may  hesitate,  and  waver, 
and  balance  the  opposing  considerations.  He 
may  stand  poised  for  that  last  decision,  for  a 
longer  or  a  shorter  space.  But  these  things  have 
their  termination.  He  decides  at  last,  and  that 
decision  seals  and  fixes  his  destiny;  and  that 
decision  is  his  own  voluntary  act.  It  is  the  all- 
powerful  "/  ivill,''  which  bears  him  over  the 
dividing  line,  and  plants  his  feet  in  the  promised 
land  of  grace.  God  helps  him  then.  All  heaven 
and  all  good  beings  are  on  his  side.  He  has 
begun  the  journey  to  Bethlehem.  "Where  thou 
goest,  I  will  go." 

I  wish  I  might  impress  this  truth  upon  you, 


ruth's  decision.  133 

for  I  believe  the  only  reason  why  so  many  are  in 
clanger  of  losing  their  salvation,  is  because  they 
have  never  determinately  resolved  to  be  saved. 
They  have  wasted  their  time  and  endangered 
their  eternity,  by  vague  regrets,  and  unavailing 
fears,  and  involuntary  anxiety,  and  half-formed 
wishes,  and  untrusting  prayers.  But  they  have 
not  summoned  themselves  to  this  stern  enterprise 
of  the  will.  They  have  shrunk  from  a  decision; 
and  are  contented,  like  Orpah,  to  w^eep  and  lament 
for  a  while,  and  then  they  return  to  their  com- 
panions and  their  gods.  I  think  I  know  the 
violence  of  this  mental  struggle.  I  can  under- 
stand the  inward  conflict  that  rages  oftentimes 
in  the  bosom  of  a  man,  before  he  will  surrender 
himself  to  his  rightful  Lord  and  Master;  when 
the  pride  of  intellect,  and  the  pride  of  reputation, 
and  the  pride  of  wealth  will  lay  their  strong 
forces  together,  side  by  side,  and  conspire  against 
God,  and  refuse  to  bow  down  at  the  mercy-seat 
and  ask  forgiveness.  And  so  do  fashionable 
tastes,  and  the  love  of  dress,  and  the  love  of 
gayety,  and  the  fear  of  being  ridiculed,  and  the 
thought  of  sacrificing  so  much  that  is  in  the 
world,  w^eave  a  silken  band  about  the  will;  and 
the  poor,  weak  young  man  or  woman  concludes 
he  cannot  sacrifice  so  much  for  eternity,  and  he 
prefers  to  resign  his  journey,  and  follows  the 
12 


134  ruth's  decision. 

Biisguiclecl  danghtcr  of  Naomi  back  to  the  land 
of  sin  and  doom. 

But  let  not  such  a  person  dare  to  say  anything 
of  the  matter,  but  only  that  he  has  refused  the 
invitation  of  his  God.  When  he  had  only  to 
choose,  in  order  to  be  saved,  he  chose  wrong; 
and  when,  at  the  last,  his  injured  Saviour  looks 
upon  him,  with  this  reproach,  "You  w^ould  not 
come  unto  me,  that  you  might  have  life,"  my 
dear  friend,  you  will  own  it,  you  w^ill  own  it,  for 
you  will  be  speechless. 

Oh,  that  decision — that  critical  decision !  One 
little  act,  the  simplest  act  of  the  soul,  yet  preg- 
nant with  the  w^hole  complex  of  character  and 
destiny.  Begotten  in  a  moment,  but  living 
through  eternity.  The  verge  line  of  salvation, 
or  ruin.  The  single  hair  which  holds  an  infinite 
weight.  How  unspeakable  the  value  of  a  mo- 
ment! The  clock  strikes  once.  If  that  should 
be  the  note  of  the  sinner's  doom,  he  is  lost  for- 
ever. But  before  the  echo  of  that  bell-note  dies, 
it  strikes  again;  and  now  that  lost  creature  has 
seized  the  cross,  decided  for  Christ,  and  is  safe 
eternally.  How  long  halt  ye,  my  brethren? 
Decide  now — and  let  me  tell  you  the  objects  you 
should  have  in  view  in  your  decision. 

"  Thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  ih?/  God, 
my  God."     The  foremost  object  of  the  sinner's 


ruth's  decision.  135 

choice  is  God — to  love  him,  serve  him,  be  dedi- 
cated supremely  to  him,  as  the  portion  of  his 
soul,  his  shield  and  exceeding  great  reward. 
That  is  the  god  of  our  souls,  which  our  souls 
love  most;  to  which  we  pay  the  highest  practi- 
cal regard;  to  wdiich  we  refer  our  motives,  and 
render  our  obedience;  for  which  we  make  most 
sacrifices,  and  which  constitutes  the  living,  pow- 
erful centre  of  our  affections.  It  may  be  ambi- 
tion, or  wealth,  or  any  other  form  of  worldliness. 
A  w^ife  shall  perhaps  control  the  husband's  heart 
and  command  his  faculties,  and  time,  and  hfe, 
installed  in  his  heart  as  on  a  throne.  Or  a  hus- 
band shall  be  the  tyrant,  who,  by  an  influence 
direct  or  indirect,  shall  so  overrule  a  woman's 
impulses  and  affections,  that  she  shall  live  for 
him  alone,  as  if  he  were  God.  Or,  it  may  be  a 
little  child,  who,  in  the  narrow  circle  of  his  enjoy- 
ment, shall  engross  the  parent's  influence,  and 
care,  and  means;  and  to  those  fond  parents  the 
little  child  is  as  a  deity. 

Diversify  the  view,  and  multiply  the  objects  as 
you  please,  you  will  find  in  every  worldly  thing 
some  quality  of  power,  to  which  you  will  find 
among  men  an  answeriug  and  devout  worship- 
per. From  a  crown  to  a  mineral,  or  a  shell  or 
a  black  letter  page,  you  may  extend  the  cata- 
logue; and  some  one  of  these  objects  has  so  en- 


136  huth's  decision. 

grossed  the  minds  and  souls  of  men,  as  to  blind 
them  to  their  immortal  interests,  and  even  alike 
to  their  mortal.  There  is  something  which  every 
man  loves  supremely.  If  it  be  nothing  external 
to  himself,  then  it  is  something  within,  and  hm- 
self  is  his  chief  divinity. 

Men  must  have  a  god — the  great  God  has 
made  them  so.  Now  the  world's  sin  is,  that  it 
has  forsaken  the  one  living  and  true  God,  and 
substituted  the  creature  in  his  place.  We  need 
not  unbury  ancient  monuments  and  temples  to 
count  the  number  of  false  deities.  There  never 
were  so  many  idols  shaped  of  wood  and  stone,  as 
are  enshrined  in  the  bosoms  of  our  Christianized 
men  and  women,  in  the  power  of  some  w^orldly 
passion  and  end.  There  never  was  such  a  Pan- 
theon as  the  human  heart.  It  is  only  in  the  little 
Bethlehem  of  God's  Church,  that  you  find  a  true 
and  holy  Avorship.  The  wide  world  besides  is 
only  a  Moab  of  idolatry.  Unconvertedness  is 
idolatry. 

Now  the  decision  we  have  spoken  of,  has  for 
its  object  the  discarding  of  every  idol  from  the 
heart,  and  the  enthroning  of  God  in  his  rightful 
seat — to  control  the  feelings,  direct  the  motives, 
and  shape  the  character  of  the  soul.  It  is  the 
being  swallowed  up  in  him  in  love,  to  say,  "Whom 
have  I  in  heaven  but  thee  ?  and  there  is  none  on 


ruth's  decision.  137 

earth  I  desire  besides  thee."  It  is  the  engross- 
ing of  our  wills  in  his,  so  that  to  do  his  will  shall 
be  both  our  meat  and  drink.  It  is  to  seek  his 
favour  as  the  highest  good,  and  trust  in  him  as 
the  surest  helper.  In  a  word,  it  is  to  serve  him 
with  the  whole  heart — and  to  begin  noiv. 

I  need  not  say  a  word  of  the  advantages  of 
that  service.  You  yourselves,  my  brethren,  ac- 
knowledge the  superiority  of  his  nature,  the 
glory  of  his  excellent  goodness,  and  the  lasting 
benefits  of  his  love;  that  his  favour  is  life,  and 
his  loving-kindness  better  than  life.  Such  was 
the  decision  of  Huth — bringing  her  away  from 
every  false  god,  and  committing  her  to  the  alone 
guidance  of  the  true  Jehovah. 

Again:  "Thy  people  shall  be  my  people." 
The  Christian  is  a  member  of  a  family — the 
household  of  Christ.  He  has  entered  amongst 
the  general  assembly  of  the  first-born,  whose 
names  are  written  in  heaven.  He  lives  not  for 
himself — he  is  one  of  a  fraternity.  And  when 
he  gave  himself  to  his  Master,  he  became  a  part- 
ner of  those  wdio  have  entered  into  the  same 
service.  They  are  a  peculiar  people.  They 
have  a  new  spirit,  a  common  aim,  a  mutual 
sympathy.  "One  Lord,  one  faith,  one  baptism; 
one  God  and  Father  of  all,  who  is  above  all,  and 
through  all,  and  in  them  all."  They  live  like 
12* 


138  euth's  decision. 

brethren.  They  are  pitiful,  and  courteous,  and 
compassionate;  striving  only  in  kindness,  and 
provoking  one  another  only  to  good  works.  If 
one  member  suffer,  all  the  members  suffer  with 
him.  The  brother  of  high  degree  exalteth  not 
himself  above  him  that  is  lowly;  but  in  honour 
preferring  one  another,  they  bear  one  another's 
burdens,  and  so  fulfil  the  law  of  Christ.  Their 
communion  here  is  only  a  type  of  the  heavenly. 
Their  oneness  of  feeling  an  antepast  of  the  ever- 
lasting fellowship  of  the  Holy  Ghost.  "  Blest  is 
the  tie  that  binds  those  hearts  in  Christian  love." 
Happy  community!  elect  of  God  and  precious! 
Thrice  happy  in  the  governance  of  the  Saviour 
of  sinners,  in  the  growing  purity  of  your  souls, 
and  in  your  glorious  hope  of  immortality  !  Break 
not  that  triple  bond,  dear  brethren,  for  it  is  most 
holy.  Profane  not  your  calling,  for  it  is  to 
heaven.  Think  not  of  the  broken  friendships  of 
Moab,  because  your  people  are  God's ;  and  when 
you  made  the  great  decision  of  salvation,  you 
made  yourself  one  of  a  fraternity  which  com- 
prises not  many  mighty,  not  many  learned,  not 
many  rich ;  but  you  chose  them  still,  to  be  only 
their  equal;  to  take  the  place  of  the  lowest,  and 
to  go  up  to  your  home,  and  stand  at  heaven's 
door  hand  in  hand  with  those  who,  here  on  earth, 
are  as  the  oifscouring  of  all  things. 


ruth's  decision.  139 

Once  more,  I  call  to  your  notice  another  fea- 
ture in  the  decision  of  Ruth — one  Avhich  brings 
her  decision  in  forcible  contrast  to  her  sister's. 
It  was  ^filial  decision.  It  embraced  her  whole 
coming  life.  When  she  forsook  Moab,  it  was 
forever.  When  she  made  choice  of  God  and  his 
people,  it  was  for  life  or  death.  "Where  thou 
diest,  I  will  die,  and  there  will  I  be  buried." 
Her  sister  had  made  a  momentary  determination, 
that  she  too  would  follow  the  fortunes  of  Naomi. 
But  she  returned,  and  they  saw  her  no  more. 
We  may  illustrate,  by  this  contrast,  the  difference 
between  two  modes  of  decision,  which  seems  very 
slight  at  first,  but  terminates  in  the  utmost 
separation. 

It  is  possible,  nay  it  is  very  easy,  for  one  who 
is  awakened  to  pursue  the  heavenly  pilgrimage, 
to  adopt  only  a  partial  decision,  and  so  to  defeat 
the  whole  end  of  salvation.  He  decides  by  way 
of  experiment.  He  has  heard  that  if  he  sur- 
renders himself  to  Christ,  he  shall  gain  the  se- 
curity and  peace  which  his  spirit  craves ;  and  he 
comes  to  the  mercy-seat  and  renders  his  formal 
submission  to  God.  But  if  you  could  read  his 
heart,  you  would  mark  there  a  spuit  of  reserva- 
tion. He  has  not  submitted  himself  uncondition- 
ally to  God.  In  his  own  mind  he  has  prescribed 
these  terms  of  dedication — "  Give  me  comfort,  and 


140  ruth's  decision. 

I  will  give  my  heart."  It  is  as  if  he  demanded 
the  wages  before  he  has  wrought  the  labour.  It 
is  as  if  he  were  purely  selfish — willing  to  forsake 
his  pleasant  sins,  if  he  can  find  a  j)leasanter  sub- 
stitute, but  refusing  to  renounce  them  till  he  has 
seized  the  other  bUss;  and  determining  to  cling 
to  them  if  that  other  bliss  cannot  soon  be  his. 
It  is  as  if  he  were  unwilKng  to  rely  in  simplicity 
on  the  absolute  word  of  God,  and  therefore  de- 
mands a  pledge  in  advance.  Such  a  decision 
never  carried  a  sinner  to  heaven. 

Many  have  been  the  followers  of  Orpah  in  this 
false  surrender  to  rehgion.  You  can  see  them 
roused  in  the  church,  when  some  shaft  of  truth 
transfixes  the  soul,  and  quivers  in  the  wound. 
You  can  see  them  overwhelmed  and  bowed  down 
with  grief,  as  they  stand  at  the  tomb's  door. 
You  see  them  very  thoughtful  on  the  vanity  of 
human  life,  when  they  have  struggled  against 
debt  and  poverty,  and  been  conquered ;  and  then 
you  shall  see  them  fly  to  religion  for  their  com- 
fort— solely  for  their  own  private  ease,  and  not 
at  all  for  pardon  and  the  favour  of  God.  Im- 
pulsive in  its  source,  their  decision  will  be  most 
transient  in  its  Hfe.  In  the  fickleness  of  super- 
ficial feeling,  they  throw  off  the  oppressive  grief 
in  a  flood  of  tears — and  Orpah  wends  her  way 
again  to  the  wicked  Moab. 


ruth's  d:^ision.  141 

The  decision  of  Ruth  was,  and  the  decision 
of  a  true  godliness  always  is,  both  unconditional 
and  final.  Nothing  is  reserved.  The  idols  are 
not  only  left,  but  renounced.  Moab  is  forsaken 
forever.  The  companions  of  sin  are  abandoned, 
and  the  everlasting  interests  of  the  soul — its 
attachments,  faculties,  attainments — the  soul  it- 
self— the  whole  moral  creature — cast  away  into 
the  outspread  arms  of  the  soul's  only  Saviour. 
The  sinner  feels  that  his  decision  is  his  last; 
that  his  covenant  cannot  be  retracted.  If  he 
perishes,  he  perishes ;  but  he  Avill  perish  in  the 
path  to  heaven — his  feet  at  the  cross,  his  face 
towards  the  mercy  seat.  I  said,  but  just  now, 
"Oh!  that  critical  decision!"  Can  we  help  say- 
ing now,  "  Oh !  that  most  glorious  decision,  which 
without  reserve,  without  conditions — finally  and 
forever — brings  the  sinner  to  the  footstool  and 
the  soul  to  glory?"  Angels  mark  that  decision. 
God  writes  it  in  his  book;  and  the  new  song 
swells  forth  louder,  till  the  arches  of  heaven  ring 
again,  with  the  new  joy,  "He  was  dead,  he  is 
alive  again.     He  was  lost  and  is  found." 

My  brethren,  the  decision  of  Huth  has  been 
acted  over  again  here  many  times.  The  meaning 
of  the  baptismal  vow  is,  "Whither  thou  goest, 
I  will  go;  where  thou  dwellest,  I  will  dwell; 
thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  God  my 


142  ruth's  decision. 

God.  God  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if  aught 
bub  death  part  thee  and  me."  You  have  seen 
that  solemn  rite  many  times,  and  every  time  you 
witnessed  it,  it  was  as  a  tender  appeal  of  your 
companions  and  friends,  starting  on  their  pilgri- 
mage, and  looking  back,  beckoning  to  you,  ^'We 
are  journeying  to  the  place,  of  which  the  Lord 
said,  I  will  give  it  you;  come  thou  with  us,  and 
we  will  do  thee  good;  for  the  Lord  hath  spoken 
good  concerning  Israel."  They  invite  you  still 
to  go  up  with  them  out  of  the  land  of  idolatry 
and  sinful  pleasure.  They  have  joined  the  family 
of  the  Lord,  and  they  have  parted  from  you,  to 
press  on  forever  to  glory.  Dear  friends,  will  you 
let  them  go  without  you  ?  And  will  you  return 
to  the  world  to  sin  on?  They  have  chosen  God 
for  their  portion — Christ  for  their  Saviour.  Can- 
not their  example  move  you?  Have  not  they 
tasted  of  the  j)leasures  of  the  world,  and  traversed 
the  pleasant  places  of  sin?  Yet  they  have  left 
them  all  behind.  They  have  found  a  better 
land,  even  a  heavenly.  Are  not  your  souls  as 
precious  as  theirs?  Will  not  heaven  be  as 
delightful  to  you  as  to  them  ?  Can  you  afford 
any  better  than  they  to  trifle  with  your  eternity  ? 
Will  you  let  them  depart  without  crying  out  after 
them,  "We  will  go  with  you,  for  we  have  heard 
that  the  Lord  is  with  you."     Where  you  go,  so 


ruth's  decision.  143 

will  we — jour  people  shall  be  our  people,  and 
your  God  ours.  God  do  so,  and  more  also,  if 
aught  but  death  part  you  and  us. 

Dear  friends — one  and  all — remember  that  the 
spiritual  separation  which  takes  place  when  any 
of  you  are  regenerated,  is  only  a  type  of  that 
eternal  parting  which  shall  be  at  the  judgment 
day.  You  may  dwell  together  in  person  until 
then.  You  may  live  beneath  the  same  roof — sit 
at  the  same  table — occupy  the  same  pew — die, 
one  after  another,  on  the  same  bed,  and  be  laid 
in  the  same  tomb.  But  when  you  rise  again, 
you  shall  part  forever.  Parents  and  children — 
husbands  and  wives — loving  and  loved — shall 
part  to  meet  no  more.  How  awful  will  be  that 
parting!  Is  there  no  feeling  of  desire  to  travel 
with  them  ?  Then  do  not,  like  Orpah,  wish,  and 
weep,  and  turn  away,  but  cast  in  your  lot  with 
them,  once  and  for  all.  Choose  God  for  your  God ; 
his  people,  for  your  companions  and  friends; 
Christ,  for  your  Saviour;  his  Spirit,  for  your 
guide ;  heaven,  for  your  home. 


SERMON   YIII. 


HOLINESS  ESSENTIAL  TO  SALVATION. 


IIebre\YS  xii.  14. 
"  Holiness,  without  which  no  man  shall  see  the  Lord." 

We  are  all  in  pursuit  of  one  object.  Our  modes 
of  life  are  different,  our  callings,  our  amusements, 
our  means,  our  tastes — yet  there  is  one  aim  uni- 
versal to  the  race,  and  that  is  happiness.  Men 
run  to  and  fro,  and  seek  out  many  inventions; 
and  if  you  will  hearken  a  moment  to  the  voice 
of  human  activity  and  passion,  coming  forth  day 
and  night,  from  the  thick  multitude,  it  is  only 
the  everlasting  cry,  "Who  will  show  us  any 
good  ?"  This  is  the  root  of  human  motives.  Men 
do  not  love  life  more  than  they  love  enjoyment. 
Therefore  it  is  that  every  man  wishes  to  go  to 
heaven.  But  what  heaven  would  be,  if  it  were 
to  be  shaped  and  shifted  to  suit  the  wishes  of 
men's  hearts,  you  can  judge  perhaps  better  than 
I.  Some  persons  would  wish  to  carry  there 
their  riches,  that  they  might  count  gold  forever  • 
(U4) 


HOLINESS   ESSENTIAL   TO    SALVATION.  145 

and  some  their  honours,  that  the  first  here  might 
be  the  first  in  heaven;  and  some  their  luxury,  so 
that  their  present  heaven   might  last   always. 
Some  are  so  lifted  up  with  pride  and  contempt 
of  their  inferiors,  that  no  bliss  would  suit  them 
in  which  there  was  not  an  aristocracy;  and  are 
there  not  trifling  men  and  women,  who  are  so 
much  the  votaries  of  fashion  and  display,  that  if 
they  could  enter  into  the  courts  of  God,  their 
chief  admiration   and    delight   would   be  spent 
upon   the   beautiful   garments  of  their   immor- 
tahty?     Now,  since  all   we   can   know  of  the 
future  life  must  be  a  matter  of  revelation,  it  be- 
hoves us  to  inquire,  what  has  God  spoken  of 
eternity?     Is  there  an  immortal  fehcity?     Can 
that  fehcity  be  attained  ?     On  what  conditions? 
Through  what  means  ?     This  question,  which  ex- 
presses the  pleading  desires  of  the  human  soul, 
God  has  definitely  answered.     Life  and  immor- 
tahty  have   been  brought  to  light  through  the 
gospel.     There  is  a  heaven,  comprising  as  its 
ingredients,  glory,  honour,  immortality,  and  in- 
ward  peace   and  rest.     It  was  meant  for  the 
human  soul,  and  the  human  soul  for  it.     But  it 
is  accessible  only  through  one  highway.     In  the 
prophet's  words,  "A.  highway  shall  be  there  and 
a  way,  and  it  shall  be  called  the  way  of  holiness. 
The   unclean   shall   not  pass   over  it,  but  the 
ly 


146  HOLINESS  ESSENTIAL   TO   SALVATION. 

redeemed  shall  walk  there."  If  the  question  be, 
What  is  the  personal  qualification  that  shall  make 
me  meet  for  heaven?  I  answer  with  the  ajjostle, 
"Without  holiness,  no  man  shall  see  the  Lord." 
You  will  have  inferred  already,  that  our  subject 
is  "Holiness  essential  to  salvation." 

Let  us  endeavour,  therefore,  to  analyze  and 
discover  the  true  nature  of  holiness.  Holiness, 
in  the  abstract,  is  conformity  to  moral  right. 
When,  in  ordinary  speech,  we  ascribe  holiness  to 
God,  we  mean  to  denote  that  matchless  purity 
of  his  nature  that  makes  him  always  and  inflexi- 
bly just,  and  righteous,  and  true.  So  that  what- 
ever proceeds  from  him,  is  the  best  that  is  con- 
ceivable. Whatever  he  does,  is  right.  What- 
ever he  speaks,  is  everlasting  truth.  Whatever 
he  wills,  is  dictated  by  the  impulses  of  a  trans- 
cendent excellence.  Whatever  his  bosom  loves, 
is  the  superlative  of  moral  fitness.  Whatever 
plan  his  mind  conceives,  is  sure  to  be  accordant 
with  the  highest  interests  of  the  universe,  so  that 
it  may  be  said,  with  an  infinite  emphasis,  that 
God  is  holy.  And  more  than  this  is  true,  for 
not  only  is  the  Almighty  holy,  but  he  is  holiness 
itself.  He  is  the  embodying  of  that  quality.  In 
his  nature  the  abstract  idea  is  rendered  substan- 
tial. The  conception  is  made  alive.  And  be- 
pause  God  is  the  living  substance  of  holiness,  he 


HOLINESS   ESSENTIAL   TO    SALVATION.  147 

is  fit  to  be  our  pattern.  Because  he  is  essential 
perfection,  his  will  is  our  rule  of  holiness.  If 
we  had  minds  of  an  infinite  grasp,  we  might 
make  our  own  laws ;  for  we  could  then  determine 
the  bounds  of  abstract  fitness,  and  each  one  of 
us  would  be  a  God  to  himself.  But  inasmuch 
as  we  are  subordinate  creatures,  and  can  by  no 
means  understand  all  the  relations  of  things,  we 
must  reckon  ourselves  as  under  tuition.  We 
must  have  a  schoolmaster  to  train  our  infant 
powers,  and  hold  before  our  eyes  the  pattern  and 
the  rule  of  holiness.  The  pattern,  I  have  said, 
is  God  himself,  the  rule  is  the  teachings  of  God. 
Holiness  in  the  created  being  therefore,  holiness 
in  men,  consists  in  conformity  to  God — our  char- 
acter conformed  to  God's  character,  our  doings 
conformed  to  God's  revealed  will.  This  is,  I 
think,  the  most  intelligible  description  of  holiness 
— conformity  to  God's  revealed  will.  To  deter- 
mine the  particular  developments  of  human  holi- 
ness, we  must  review  the  particular  revelations 
of  God's  will.  Holiness  will  consist  in  conformi- 
ty to  them.  God  has  revealed  his  will  to  man- 
kind, both  in  the  law  and  in  the  gospel.  The 
law  is  the  rule  of  outward  and  inward  morality. 
The  gospel  teaches  us  how  to  obey  that  rule,  by 
inspiring  us  with  sufficient  motives  and  constrain- 
ing desires.     The  law  is  the  rule  for  sinless  be- 


148  HOLINESS   ESSENTLVL   TO   SALVATION. 

ings,  and  presupposes  a  sinless  nature.  You 
have  only  to  show  to  a  sinless  being  the  way  to 
do  right,  and  he  is  already  furnished  with  the 
afiections  and  desires  that  make  his  soul  press  on 
after  holiness  and  God.  The  law  of  God  is  there- 
fore the  rule  of  holiness  to  angels,  and  the  winged 
cherubim,  and  all  beatified  spirits  in  heaven. 
It  was  Adam's  rule  before  he  fell.  It  will  be  the 
universal  rule  and  guide  of  the  millennium,  when 
no  man  shall  be  obliged  to  say  to  his  brother, 
''Know  the  Lord,  for  all  shall  know  him,  from 
the  least  to  the  greatest." 

But  the  law  of  God  is  not  an  available  rule  for 
sinners,  because  sinners  have  no  heart  to  obey  it. 
It  is  still  binding,  indeed;  for  to  suppose  other- 
wise, would  be  to  suppose  that  God  can  have 
two  contradictory  wills  on  the  same  subject.  It 
is  binding  upon  the  sinner  in  its  precept,  for  the 
sinner  ought  to  obey  it.  It  is  binding  upon  him 
in  its  penalty,  for  the  sinner  will  be  destro3^ed 
if  he  disobeys  it.  The  law  has  for  the  sinner,  if 
we  may  speak  so,  only  a  monumental  efficacy. 
It  is  the  standard  of  moral  perfection,  just  as  the 
temple  of  Theseus  is  the  model  of  classic  archi- 
tecture, just  as  the  Belvidere  Apollo  is  the  mould 
of  animal  beauty,  but  it  is  only  cold  marble 
after  all.  The  law  has  no  hfe-giving  power.  It 
declares  what  we  ought  to  do  and  to  be,  but  it 


HOLINESS  ESSENTIAL   TO   SALVATION.  149 

leaves  us  as  it  finds  us,  in  all  the  impotency  of 
conscious  and  inborn  unholiness.  Men  might 
have  gazed  forever  at  the  standard  of  Divine 
purity,  revealed  in  the  law  of  God,  but,  because 
they  had  lost  the  impulse  and  sympathy  of  holi- 
ness, the  standard  would  only  have  disheartened 
them.  A  holy  being  would  find  all  his  desires 
drawn  out  in  contemplating  the  law  of  God,  and 
every  feeling  warmed  as  when  one  basks  in  the 
sunlight. 

But  show  the  pattern  of  purity  to  the  fallen 
soul  and  it  ti'embles,  just  as  you  might  suppose 
an  arctic  sailor  to  grow  more  chilly  at  the  bright 
splendour  of  an  iceberg.     But  you  need  not\e 
told,  my  hearers,  that  God  has  not  abandoned 
us  to  the  frigid  requirements  of  the  law.     When 
he  foresaw  that  men  would  fall,  he  knew  there 
must  be  something  devised,  not  simply  to  show 
them  how  a  holy  being  ought  to  act,  but  how  a 
sinful  creature  might  become  holy.     And  there- 
fore he  provided  a  way  by  which  faUen  man 
might  be  restored,  and  his  decayed  holiness  re- 
newed.    God  willed  again,  and  the  gospel  came 
down  to  us  a  standard  of  duty  for  fallen  men,  a 
rule  of  action  for  sinners,  a  pattern  of  holiness 
shining  in  the  face  of  Jesus  Christ  the  Saviour, 
God  manifested  in  the  flesh.     The  first  step  of 
conformity  to  God's  will,  which  the  sinner  can 
13* 


150  HOLINESS  ESSENTIAL   TO   S.VLVATION. 

take,  is  to  receive  the  gospel  with  all  his  heart. 
He  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  law  as  a  means 
of  salvation,  because  he  has  already  violated  it 
a  thousand  times,  a  thousand  times  told.  The 
first  duty  the  gospel  enjoins  is  a  duty  which  the 
law  never  recognized — repentance  for  sin.  The 
second  principle  of  holiness,  as  taught  by  the 
gospel,  is  faith  in  a  Saviour  who  died  as  a  sub- 
stitute for  sinners.  This  is  evangehcal  hohness. 
No  person  ever  cordially  acquiesced  in  these 
terms  without  thereby  being  conformed  to  God. 
By  his  repentance  the  sinner  abjures  and  loathes 
iniquity.  He  sees  it  to  be  that  abominable 
wrong  w^hich  brings  death  and  ruin  into  the  world. 
He  declares  w^ar  against  it  as  the  enemy  of  his 
soul,  and  so  he  stands  on  the  same  platform  with 
all  holy  beings,  and  is  at  once  enlisted  into  the 
ranks  of  heaven's  own  army. 

There  is  joy  with  the  angels  of  God,  because 
Divine  grace  has  won  a  fresh  trophy,  and  the 
Divine  holiness  secured  a  new  ally.  Moreover, 
in  the  act  of  repentance,  the  smner  virtually  ac- 
knowledges the  righteousness  of  God  in  another 
way.  He  subscribes,  as  it  w^ere,  the  sentence  of 
his  own  condemnation,  so  that  the  fearful  penalty 
of  the  Divine  law  seems  no  more  than  he  deserves, 
and  therein  he  sets  his  seal  that  God  is  right 
and  he  in  the  wrong.     Strange  transformation ! 


HOLINESS   ESSENTIAL   TO    SALVATION.  151 

Wonderful  revolution  of  feeling!  That  law, 
which  once  seemed  so  full  of  terror,  whose  intol- 
erable precepts  seemed  almost  like  lightning  to 
scathe  his  sight,  and  whose  heavy  penalties 
seemed  to  roll  and  burst  about  him  like  the  sound 
of  near  thunder,  when  the  hghtning  strikes  its 
object;  that  holy  law  is  the  penitent  sinner's  ad- 
miration. Its  vivid  precepts  seem  like  purifying 
beams  from  God.  Its  tremendous  retributions 
utter  the  voice  of  heaven's  glorious  holiness.  The 
sinning  man  is  stricken  down,  but  he  cannot  say 
it  is  not  all  right.  The  law  offers  no  hope  to  the 
repentant,  but  he  cannot  help  repenting,  and 
though  the  bolt  may  fall  upon  him  next,  he 
knows  he  deserves  the  worst.  In  such  a  mood 
of  contrition  and  self-abasement,  the  sinner  is 
prepared  for  the  cordial  reception  of  a  Saviour; 
knowing  that  he  has  no  righteousness  of  his  own, 
he  is  compelled  to  look  about  for  a  shelter  be- 
neath another's  merits.  In  a  word,  he  feels  his 
need  of  a  Saviour ;  and  when  he  reads  in  the  gos- 
pel the  proclamation  of  redeeming  love,  he  no 
longer  slights  it,  for  its  rnerc}^  is  just  what  he 
needs  to  raise  him  from  the  dust. 

When  he  understands  that  the  reason  of  God 
sending  his  Son,  was  that  he  might  be  just  and 
justify  the  ungodly,  he  seems  to  have  acquired 
a  new  perception,  and  cries  out.  Oh !  the  depth, 


152  HOLINESS   ESSENTUL   TO   SALVATION. 

the  depth  of  the  wisdom  and  knowledge  of  God. 
He  sees  how  mercy  and  truth  met  together  in 
Christ,  how  righteousness  and  peace  embraced 
each  other  at  the  cross.  When  he  reads  in  the 
evangelists  that  the  Son  of  Man  came  to  seek 
and  to  save  that  which  was  lost,  his  heart  cries 
out,  "Lord,  save  me,  or  I  perish;"  and  when  he 
learns  from  the  apostle  that  the  saying  is  worthy 
of  all  acceptation,  that  Jesus  Christ  came  into  the 
world  to  save  sinners,  he  refuses  no  longer.  He 
embraces  the  Saviour  as  his,  determined  that, 
henceforward,  nothing  shall  separate  him  from  the 
love  of  Christ.  You  behold  the  sinner  now  in  the 
second  step  of  evangelical  holiness.  With  a  heart 
changed  from  the  love  of  sin  to  the  love  of  the 
Saviour,  he  has  become  conformed  to  God.  There 
is  now  a  principle  in  the  centre  of  his  being, 
which  is  the  mother  of  all  holy  excellencies  and 
all  pious  affections.  His  soul  is  penetrated  with 
a  new  life,  so  that  all  the  out-goings  of  his  char- 
acter shall  be  different  from  their  former  course. 
He  is  holy  in  heart,  and  he  wdll  be  holy  in  his 
walk  and  conversation.  He  is  on  the  footing  of 
those  holy  beings  to  whom,  I  just  now  said,  the 
law  is  an  available  and  proper  rule.  The  gospel 
has  furnished  him  with  a  supply  of  motives  and 
affections  to  obey  the  law.  Because  God  so 
loved  him  as  to  surrender  his  own  Son  in  his 


HOLINESS    ESSENTIAL   TO   SALVATION.  153 

stead,  he  sends  back  an  answering  love  to  heaven, 
a  love  that  engrosses  his  soiil,  and  heart,  and 
might,  and  mind,  and  obedience  becomes  his  meat 
and  his  drink.  This  is  a  matter  I  wish  to  en- 
force w^ith  pecuhar  emphasis,  because  it  is  often 
misrepresented  by  the  enemies  of  the  gospel,  and 
apparently  misunderstood  by  some  who  are  its 
professed  disciples.  I  mean  the  connection  of 
evangelical  piety  with  living  and  practical  obe- 
dience. Does  it  countenance  sin  to  say  that  it  is 
freely  forgiven  at  the  cross  ?  Does  it  represent 
the  Almighty  as  winking  at  disobedience  to  pro- 
claim that  there  is  no  condemnation  to  them  who 
are  in  Christ  Jesus  ?  It  is  a  favourite  device  of 
Satan  to  say  so ;  when  he  has  exhausted  his 
resources,  and  worn  out  his  ingenuity  to  keep  the 
sinner  from  being  a  Christian,  his  next  endeavour 
will  be  to  make  him  a  false  Christian. 

He  would  as  lieve  pluck  his  victims  from  the 
threshold  of  heaven,  as  to  lead  them  under  his 
own  proper  banners  to  their  darkness  and  chains. 
He  sometimes  clothes  himself  as  an  angel  of 
light,  and  holds  out  to  the  aw^akened  person  the 
lure  of  a  false  hope,  and  satisfies  him  with 
an  imperfect  religious  experience,  and  whispers, 
"Peace,  peace,"  when  true  peace  there  is  none 
to  him;  because  he  has  not  renounced  his  sins  and 
himself,  and  has  trusted  to  Jesus  Christ  to  save 


154  HOLINESS  ESSENTIAL  TO   SALVATION. 

him,  not  from  sinning  but  from  dying.  Can  one 
stand  as  a  watchman  on  the  walls  of  Zion,  de- 
manding the  countersign  of  all  who  pass  in  and 
out  before  him?  Can  the  pastor  be  fjimiliar  with 
the  character  and  conduct  of  the  members  of  the 
Church's  flock,  and  marking  this  one's  indifler- 
ence  and  the  indolence  of  another,  listening  to 
the  ill-natured  cavillings  of  a  thh'd,  hearing  how 
loudly  some  can  profess  and  seeing  how  little  they 
do,  never  denying  themselves,  never  taking  up  the 
cross,  wilhng  that  Christ's  cause  should  flourish 
and  prosper  if  others  will  sustain  it,  but  scarcely 
stretching  forth  a  finger  to  aid  it,  expending 
much  for  self-indulgence,  and  giving  only  a  beg- 
gar's mite  for  Christ  and  charity,  of  all  debts 
satisfying  the  Church's  debt  last,  or  not  at  all; 
can  he  see  it  and  not  admit  that  all  are  not  Israel 
who  are  of  Israel? 

But  conceding  the  fact  then,  that  man}^  Chris- 
tians may  be  false,  it  does  not  follow  that  they 
profess  a  false  Gospel.  It  is  not  the  less  infalli- 
bly sure  that  a  sincere  repentance  and  a  living 
faith  will,  as  St.  John  speaks,  purify  the  heart 
and  overcome  the  world,  that  they  are  the  true 
beginning  of  religion  for  a  sinner,  the  sure  pre- 
cursors of  a  holy  life.  God  has  forefended  the 
vicious  conclusion  we  argue  against  in  the  words 
of  our  text.     A  sweet  fountain  can  send  forth 


HOLINESS   ESSENTIAL   TO   SALVATION.  155 

bitter  waters  as  well  and  as  naturally  as  a  con- 
verted heart  will  love  and  pursue  unholiness. 
You  may  recognize  a  Christian  by  his  fruits  as 
surely  as  you  may  understand  that  you  cannot 
gather  grapes  from  the  bramble-bush,  or  figs  from 
thistles.  The  Gospel  never  justifies  a  soul  which 
it  does  not  sanctify,  and  the  pardon  of  sin  is  the 
parent  of  a  holy  life. 

This  is  the  truth,  then,  that  I  wish  were  en- 
graven on  every  man's  soul,  viz :  a  cordial  com- 
pliance with  the  Gospel  and  its  simple  terms  of 
salvation,  is  not  only  not  repugnant  to  practical 
holiness,  not  exclusive  of  a  pure  heart  and  life, 
but  is  the  only  source  of  godliness.  The  song  of 
free  grace  only  awakens  affection  for  its  author. 
Salvation  without  price  is  the  amazing  thought 
that  fills  the  soul  with  wonder,  love,  and  praise. 
The  stooping  of  God  to  become  man  to  atone  for 
sin,  because  sin  could  not  be  pardoned  without 
an  atonement,  so  overawes  the  soul  with  the  im- 
pression of  God's  jealous  purity,  that  the  converted 
sinner  dare  not  sin  if  he  would,  and  when  he  re- 
members that  the  atoning  being  is  his  own  dear 
Friend  and  Saviour,  he  would  not  sin  if  he  dared. 
There  is  to  his  breast  no  reflection  so  cheering  as 
that  when  he  glories  he  must  glory  in  the  Lord, 
that  the  pride  of  the  flesh  must  be  abased,  and 
that  God  must  be  all  in  all.     There  is  implanted 


156  HOLINESS  ESSENTIAL  TO   SALVATION. 

in  that  breast  the  living  germ  of  holiness,  so  that 
the  child  of  the  Gospel  has  a  heart  to  sympathize 
with  the  angels,  and  with  Christ,  and  with  God, 
and  whatever  pleases  them  is  most  acceptable  to 
him.  It  is  not  the  servile  consideration  that  he 
must  be  holy  or  die  which  influences  his  mind. 
It  is  not  that  he  would  prefer  to  sin,  not  even  to 
retain  a  favourite  sin,  for  sin  is  the  object  of  his 
abomination.  Self-denial  is  not  a  hardship,  for 
the  occasion  to  deny  himself  is  only  an  opportu- 
nity to  exercise  and  practise  the  love  of  Christ. 
Prayer  will  be  delightful,  for  prayer  will  be  com- 
munion with  God.  The  outward  duties  and  the 
inward  graces  will  all  find  a  place  in  the  life  and 
character  of  every  instructed  believer  in  Christ, 
for  the  spirit  to  be  and  to  do  all  that  becomes  a 
child  of  God  is  a  spirit  that  is  begotten  in  him  at 
the  cross.  A  soul  so  conformed  to  God's  will 
here  is  ready  to  join  God  in  heaven.  Come 
how  and  when  the  summons  may,  he  can,  with  a 
full-hearted  complacency,  lay  aside  the  robings 
of  this  life,  business,  friends,  pleasures,  riches, 
and  step  down  with  a  manful  courage  into  his 
grave,  and  dropping  there  the  only  remnant  of 
his  mortality,  walk  through  the  gate  of  death  to 
hail  his  Redeemer,  and  feel  entirely  happ}^  that 
he  is  like  him,  and  can  see  him  as  he  is.  Death 
ushers  him  to  a  new  place,  but  it  indues  him  with 


HOLINESS   ESSENTIAL   TO    SALVATION.  157 

no  new  character.  He  enjoys  God  already. 
Whosoever  is  so  imbued  with  this  living  power 
of  holiness  carries  his  heaven  within  him.  There 
is  not  one  of  those  exercises  of  the  Christian  at 
which  we  have  glanced  in  this  discourse,  which 
is  not  like  a  well-spring  of  joy  in  his  heart. 
Even  in  the  mood  that  some  might  think  the 
most  sorrowful,  he  is  happ3^,and  his  happiness  is  of 
the  same  grade,  though  not  of  such  vast  amount  as 
that  of  heaven.  Watch  that  penitent  standing 
by  the  foot  of  the  cross.  His  eye  is  turned  up 
to  the  pierced  and  bleeding  form  extended  there. 
There  are  tears  in  his  eyes,  there  is  sorrow  graven 
on  his  countenance,  his  hands  are  clasped,  and 
now  and  then  you  may  see  them  pressed  close 
together  by  a  sort  of  spasm,  and  his  lips  move 
with  an  almost  inarticulate  sound.  If  you  draw 
nearer,  you  can  hear  him  say,  "  'Twas  for  my 
sins  my  dearest  Lord  hung  on  the  cursed  tree, 
and  groaned  away  his  dying  life.  For  thee,  my 
soul,  for  thee."  Now  those  tears,  that  subdued 
look,  and  the  strain  of  his  language,  might  lead 
one  to  suppose  he  was  unhappy,  but  never  was 
there  a  wider  mistaking  of  the  fact.  He  con- 
siders himself  at  this  moment  one  of  the  most 
favoured  of  beings.  He  has  never  been  the  sub- 
ject of  emotions  so  much  hke  bliss  as  his  present 
feelings;  and  if,  with  the  charitable  design  of 
14 


158  HOLINESS   ESSENTIAL   TO    SALVATION. 

drying  up  his  tears  and  allaying  his  grief,  you 
should  take  him  by  the  hand  to  lead  him  away 
from  that  mournful  tragedy  he  is  contemplating, 
he  would  gaze  upon  you  for  an  instant  in  sur- 
prise, withdraw  his  hand,  and  turn  again  to  look 
into  his  Saviour's  face.  He  has  a  "joy  with  which 
a  stranger  intermeddleth  not."  There  is  in  his 
emotions  a  blending  together  of  admiration,  and 
reverence,  and  gratitude,  and  love,  and  hope,  and 
humble  views  of  himself,  and  noble  resolves  to- 
wards Christ,  so  that  his  whole  conscious  being 
is  lost  and  swallowed  up  in  God.  You  mistake 
the  whole  matter  if  you  suppose  that  he  is  un- 
happy, or  that  you  can  mend  his  condition  in  the 
slightest  measure.  Now,  if  the  sadness  of  a  holy 
heart  be  so  joyful,  what  must  its  exhilaration  be? 
Less  subduing,  having  less  of  the  pathos  of 
delight,  but  ravishing  and  ennoblmg  still.  And 
thus  it  is  with  his  every  day  life.  The  affection 
becomes  active.  The  principle  is  turned  into 
practice,  supreme  love  to  God  is  in  the  heart,  and 
its  outgoing  is  holiness  to  the  Lord.  I  have 
laboured  thus  far  to  exhibit  the  nature  and  the 
fruits  of  holiness  in  order  to  show  how  truly  a  holy 
person,  a  person  conformed  to  God,  may  be  said 
to  be  prepared  for  heaven.  Let  me  endeavour, 
very  briefly,  to  set  in  contrast  to  this  the  charac- 
ter of  a  man  still  in  unholiness,  and  I  think  you 


HOLINESS   ESSENTIAL   TO    SALVATION.  159 

will  perceive  that  holiness  is  not  only  a  qualifica- 
tion for  heaven,  but  the  only  quaUficationj  so  that 
the  unholy  person  cannot  of  necessity  be  a  par- 
taker there. 

Unholiness  is  the  want  of  supreme  love  to  God, 
and,  as  the  consequence  of  this,  a  want  of  recon- 
ciledness  to  God's  character  and  rule.  It  would 
be  enough  for  some  minds  to  leave  the  subject 
here,  for  the  very  definition  suggests  the  idea  of 
a  thorough  repugnance  to  the  heaven  where  God 
dwells.  But  to  guard  against  a  possible  delusion, 
let  me  illustrate  the  truth  by  sketching  a  charac- 
ter of  which  our  own  observation  has  furnished 
some  originals.  Passing  by  the  profligate,  the 
profane,  the  Sabbath-breaker,  the  intemperate, 
the  miserly,  as  the  class  of  unclean  ones  who,  the 
prophet  says,  shall  not  pass  along  the  highway 
to  heaven;  let  us  suppose  a  man  of  morals  un- 
impeachable, of  generous  affections,  lofty  senti- 
ments, and  delicate  perceptions  of  propriety. 
Add  to  these  the  decorations  of  winning  social 
quahties,  and  high  mental  attainment  and  polish. 
Then  scrutinize  his  deportment  in  religious  mat- 
ters; see  him  punctually  at  his  place  in  the  house 
of  God,  a  liberal  supporter  of  religious  institu- 
tions, and  oftentimes,  so  far  outstripping,  in  this 
respect,  many  who  call  themselves  Christians, 
that  it  ought  to  put  them  to  the  blush.     Why  is 


160  HOLINESS   ESSENTIAL   TO    SALVATION. 

not  this  man  a  candidate  for  the  blessedness  of 
God  ?  is  the  question.  And  the  answer  is,  "  Be- 
cause not  any  or  all  of  these  quahfications  are  of 
necessity  equivalent  to  holiness."  If  there  reside 
not  in  his  heart  one  all-governing  principle  of 
love  to  God,  and  the  entire  surrender  of  his  fac- 
ulties and  himself  to  do  the  will  of  God,  he  is 
yet  unholy.  Whatsoever  be  the  actuating  mo- 
tives of  his  life,  they  spring  from  earth,  not  heav- 
en ;  and  therefore  when  you  speak  to  him  of  see- 
ing God,  he  does  not  understand  the  phrase. 
But,  besides  these  quahties,we  repeatedly  observe 
in  men  who  are  not  Christians,  a  sort  of  persua- 
sion that  they  cherish  a  love  for  God.  They 
have  a  general  reverence  for  sacred  things.  They 
have  been  among  the  scenes  of  nature's  terrible 
magnificence,  and  they  thought  they  could  adore 
and  bow  down  in  the  presence  of  Omnipotence. 
They  have  made  researches  into  nature's  handi- 
craft, and  exclaimed  at  the  wisdom  of  the  Omnis- 
cient. They  have  often  pointed  out  with  admi- 
ration, the  beneficence  of  God  strewed  over  the 
universe,  and  specially  manifested  in  giving  pros- 
perity to  them.  They  feel  they  owe  him  their 
gratitude.  They  say  they  are  grateful,  and  what 
more  can  you  ask  ?  Is  not  this  a  true  and  suffi- 
cient love  of  God  ?  I  answer,  but  3'et  not  I,  but 
God  answers,  "No."     You  can  equally  be  made 


HOLINESS   ESSENTUL   TO   SALVATION.  161 

to  feel  your  inferiority  at  any  display  of  power 
and  magnificencej  whether  ye  suppose  it  to  be 
natural  or  divine.  You  are  inspired  with  a  sort 
of  reverence  in  beholding  Niagara,  whether  3^0 
believe  its  bed  w^as  dug  by  virtue  of  an  inani- 
mate law,  or  by  the  finger  of  Jehovah.  You  feel 
belittled  when  tracing  the  intricacies  of  nature's 
works,  whether  the  wisdom  that  appears  in  them 
be  the  fruit  of  the  Divine  mind  or  of  a  lucky 
chance.  At  best  it  is  only  a  natural  attribute 
that  you  admire. 

And  so  your  eyes  may  be  suffused  at  the 
thought  of  your  blessings,  whether  you  ascribe 
the  credit  of  them  to  God,  or  to  the  inevitable 
tide  in  the  affairs  of  men.  But  allowing  after 
all  it  is  the  Deity  himself  who  is  loved,  that 
Deity  is  not  the  Jehovah  of  the  Bible.  It  is 
easy  to  array  the  character  of  God  with  a  tissue 
of  imaginary  qualities,  and  then  to  bow  down  to 
the  idol  our  fancies  have  shaped.  There  is  one 
attribute  of  Jehovah,  which  the  unrenewed  man 
never  loves.  It  is  Jehovah's  choicest  attribute. 
He  glories  in  it  more  than  in  all  the  rest.  It  is 
his  bright  and  stainless  holiness,  his  hatred  of 
sin,  his  solemn  and  everlasting  determination  to 
punish  and  destroy  sin.  No  human  creature 
could  ever  bring  himself  to  love  and  praise  God 
for  his  holiness,  until  he  had  felt  the  evil  of  sin, 
14* 


162  HOLINESS   ESSENTIAL  TO   SALVATION. 

and  learned  to  loathe  it  in  himself  first  of  all.  Is 
it  natural  or  possible  for  a  being  who  loves  him- 
self best,  to  cherish  an  aifection  for  the  pure  God, 
when  he  is  told  there  is  something  in  his  charac- 
ter which  God  detests?  This  is  not  the  law  of 
human  sympathy  and  correspondence,  and  to  say 
to  such  an  one  that  his  character  as  a  sinner  is 
hateful  to  God,  is  to  arm  his  feelings  Avith  a  triple 
mail  of  opposition.  Sin  must  first  be  crucified  and 
nailed  to  the  cross,  as  an  accursed  thing,  by  the 
sinner  himself,  before  he  can  even  understand  the 
glory  of  Jehovah's  purity.  How  then  is  he  pre- 
pared to  enjoy  the  true  God  ?  Transplant  such 
a  person  within  the  walls  of  heaven,  with  his 
nature  unchanged.  Let  him  breathe  that  atmos- 
phere that  has  no  taint  of  sin.  Let  him  see  every 
object  graven  with  holiness,  where  the  very  light 
by  which  the  soul  sees,  is  the  light  of  moral 
purity.  Let  him  hear  the  music  that  swells  forth 
always;  the  burden  of  whose  chorus  is,  "Praise 
God  in  his  holiness."  Let  him  behold  the  army 
of  the  redeemed  come  marching  up  in  their  white 
robes  of  sinlessness,  and  cast  their  crowns  at 
Jehovah's  feet,  and  cry  out  with  one  loud  peal  of 
adoration,  "  Thou  art  worthy,  for  thou  only  art 
holy.  Holy,  holy,  holy.  Lord  God  Almighty." 
The  man  of  elegant  but  unsanctified  character 
could  not  love  it.     It  would  wake  up  no  response 


HOLINESS   ESSENTIAL   TO   SALVATION.  163 

within  him.  This  is  not  the  God  he  thought  he 
loved.  That  purity  is  intolerable  to  his  sight. 
That  music  is  discord  to  his  soul.  "Let  me 
escape,"  he  cries,  "I  have  seen  God.  He  is  not 
the  God  that  I  imagined  I  loved,  for  he  is  a  sin- 
hating  God.  Heaven  is  not  the  blessedness  I 
used  to  dream  of.  My  eternity  is  undone.  I 
must  go  away  among  my  kindred,  the  unholy; 
but  give  me  wings,  let  me  fly  quick  over  these 
high  walls,  for  every  moment  is  wretchedness 
until  I  can  reach  the  place  where  sin  is  not 
abhorred.  Away,  then,  away  from  this  intoler- 
able and  eternal  tide  of  praise."  And  away  from 
the  face  of  God  he  flies,  and  never  enters  heaven 
again.  "Without  holiness,  no  man  can  see  the 
Lord." 


SEKMON    IX. 


ADORNMENTS  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHARACTER 


Philippians  iv.  8. 

"  FlXALLT,  BRETHREN,  Tl'nATSOEVER  THINGS  ARE  TRUE,  WHATSO- 
EVER THINGS  ARE  HONEST,  WHATSOEVER  THINGS  ARE  JUST, 
M^JIATSOEVER  THINGS  ARE  PURE,  WHATSOEVER  THINGS  ARE  LOVE- 
LY, WHATSOEVER  THINGS  ARE  OF  GOOD  REPORT  ;  IF  THERE  BE 
ANY  VIRTUE,  AND  IF  THERE  BE  ANY  PRAISE,  THINK  ON  THESE 
THINGS." 

Christian  piety  is  not  only  an  inward  but  an 
outward  grace.  It  is  not  only  a  life,  but  an  or- 
nament. It  is  spiritual,  and  it  is  practical  besides. 
It  is  an  old  and  stereotyped  charge  against  the  doc- 
trines called  evangelical,  that  they  make  a  man's 
salvation  depend  so  much  upon  his  faith,  as  quite 
to  obscure  and  shut  out  the  duties  of  an  every- 
day religion.  This  complaint  has  somewhat  of 
plausibility,  but  it  proceeds  on  a  false  view  both 
of  theology  and  of  human  nature.  It  is  false 
theology  to  say  that  justification  by  faith  excludes 
the  duties  of  an  outward  godliness,  because  faith 
is  itself  the  root  of  every  pious  vktue.  And  it 
(164) 


THE    CHRISTIAN   CHARACTER.  165 

is  a  false  view  of  human  nature,  because  when 
once  the  inward  man  is  renewed  by  faith  in 
Christ,  the  outward  man  is  sure  to  exhibit  a  reno- 
vation of  hfe,  of  morals,  and  of  manners.  There 
is  no  inconsistency  then  in  exhorting  a  congre- 
gation of  Christian  believers,  who  ascribe  their 
great  spiritual  change  to  the  mere  grace  of  God, 
to  adorn  the  doctrine  of  God  their  Saviour,  by 
adding  to  their  characters  one  by  one  the  whole 
catalogue  of  moral  and  social  beauties.  It  is 
just  as  natural  and  just  as  necessary  that  the 
Christian  should  practise  good  works,  as  it  would 
be  if  he  expected  to  be  saved  by  his  own  merits, 
instead  of  those  of  his  Redeemer.  No  Christian 
teacher  ever  exhibited,  with  such  clearness  and 
emphasis,  the  nature  of  faith  as  the  single  ground 
of  justification,  as  the  great  apostle,  whose  words 
are  our  text.  And  no  one  ever  set  forth  as  he 
did,  with  such  breadth  of  view,  the  indispensable 
character  of  all  good  works  as  the  condition  of 
our  advancement,  and  of  our  fitness  for  heaven. 
The  text  itself  is  an  illustration  in  point.  Ad- 
dressing those  who  seem  to  have  been  most  ex- 
emplary in  their  adhesion  to  the  faith  of  the 
gospel,  he  now  exhorts  them  to  be  diligent  and 
pains-taking  in  exhibiting  the  pattern  of  moral 
virtues  wrought  into  their  outward  lives.  In 
discoursing  from  these  words  of  the  apostle,  there 


166  ADORN^IENTS   OF   THE 

can  be  no  better  order  of  thought  than  the  one 
he  has  chosen,  and  in  follo^Ying  this  we  have 
only  to  define  the  character  of  the  various  virtues 
which  he  enumerates  in  succession. 

First,  "  Whatsoever  things  are  true,"  he  says, 
"think  on  these  things" — think  on  them,  that  is, 
to  practise  them.  By  the  "  things  that  are  true," 
we  may  understand  whatsoever  has  its  basis  in 
the  revealed  word  of  God,  i.e.  doctrinal  truth; 
or  again,  it  may  signify  that  which  is  grounded 
in  truthfulness  of  character,  i.  e.  practical  sin- 
cerity, simplicity  of  purpose,  transparency  of 
motive,  genuineness  of  principle  as  opposed  to 
double  dealing,  hypocrisy,  or  the  left-handedness 
of  expediency.  If  we  regard  it  in  the  former  of 
these  senses,  then  it  is  an  admonition  to  hold  fitst 
to  the  great  truths  of  the  gospel ;  to  keep  them  in 
fixmiliar  view  as  living  truths ;  to  make  them  the 
man  of  our  counsel,  a  light  to  our  feet,  and  a  lamp 
to  our  path ;  to  bring  near  to  our  minds  the  realities 
of  an  atoning  cross,  an  interceding  Saviour,  an 
influential  and  present  Spuit,  a  judguient  bar, 
and  an  eternity  beyond  of  ineffable  brightness  or 
unutterable  gloom ;  to  make  these  things  felt  and 
realized  as  principles  of  action,  and  so  to  bring 
the  heart  under  the  influence  of  nobler  and  sub- 
limer  impressions  than  can  be  drawn  from  any- 
thing sublunary.     The  eflect  of  this  would  be 


CHRISTIAN  CHARACTER.  167 

to  turn  our  common  life  into  a  life  of  faith,  look- 
ing at  the  things  that  are  unseen  and  eternal. 
It  would  reduce  to  their  true  mferiority,  the  cares 
and  griefs,  as  well  as  the  enjoyments,  of  the  world ; 
so  that  we  should  endure  as  seeing  Him  who  is 
invisible;  we  should  weep  as  though  we  wept 
not,  and  rejoice  as  though  we  rejoiced  not;  we 
should  be  anxiously  careful  for  nothing,  but  in 
everything,  by  prayer  and  supplication,  together 
w^ith  thanksgiving,  we  should  make  known  our 
requests  unto  God,  and  the  peace  of  God  which 
passeth  understanding  would  keep  our  hearts 
and  minds  through  Jesus  Christ.  Such  would 
be  the  effect  of  due  reflection  upon  the  revealed 
truths  of  the  gospel. 

But  if  by  the  words  "whatsoever  things  are 
true,"  we  understand  the  apostle  to  signify  the 
traits  which  spring  from  sincerity  or  truthfulness 
of  character,  w^hich  is  the  more  probable  supposi- 
tion, then  w^e  are  introduced  to  a  class  of  qual- 
ities more  plain  and  tangible,  though  not  more 
real  or  essential.  Think,  then,  he  says,  upon  the 
graces  of  a  sincere  disposition.  They  are,  in  fact, 
worthy  to  be  thought  of,  if  only  for  their  rarity. 
And  in  saying  so,  I  mean  no  broad  satire  upon 
human  society,  but  only  truth  and  soberness. 
For  it  is  indeed  quite  remarkable  how,  of  all 
human  foibles,  the    want  of  sincerity  appears 


168  ADORNMENTS   OF   THE 

historically  to  be  the  most  common  and  frequent. 
It  is  remarkable  how  the  conscience  may  be  edu- 
cated to  practise  many  duties  with  a  religious 
scrupulousness,  and  to  pass  by,  at  the  same  time, 
some  of  the  plainest  requirements  of  truth  be- 
tween man  and  man.  From  the  earliest  records 
of  even  sacred  history,  w^e  learn  how  common 
was  mutual  deception,  and  how,  with  many  traits 
of  a  better  sort,  there  was  mingled  the  -want  of 
honest  and  truthful  speech.  The  whole  type  of 
oriental  morality,  indeed,  seems  to  be  defective 
in  this.  Passionateness  and  imagination  had  so 
much  to  do  in  forming  the  oriental  piety,  as  to 
throw  quite  into  the  background  the  common 
sensible  virtue  of  veracity.  Hence,  even  among 
the  fathers  of  the  primitive  church,  there  seems 
to  have  been  often  a  tolerance,  if  not  a  practice, 
of  deception,  which  a  tiaithful  spirit  must  repu- 
diate and  condemn.  The  very  fervour  of  their 
religious  zeal  carried  them  beyond  the  bounds  of 
ethical  propriety.  They  learned  to  think  that 
the  end  sanctified  the  means,  that  fraud  was  no 
sin  if  it  were  pious,  and  that  a  false  miracle  Avas 
made  divinely  true,  if  it  were  successful  in  mak- 
ing converts  to  the  truth.  But  this  unworthy 
trait  was  not  confined  to  the  early  ages.  The 
lying  spirit  is  not  an  oriental  demon  alone.  Al- 
though it  took  a  more  easy  form,  and  found  a 


CHRISTIAN  CHARACTER.  169 

more  natural  home  in  the  unreasoning  and  imagi- 
native constitution  of  an  eastern  people,  yet, 
wherever  rehgion  is  one  sided,  and  devotion  out- 
grows morality,  men  will  tell  hes  for  their  reli- 
gion, which  they  would  scruple  to  utter  for  an 
inferior  object.  Wherever  the  imagination  enters 
too  largely  into  piety,  or  rather  where  religion  is 
a  matter  either  of  mere  sentiment  and  taste,  or 
of  plain  flat  bigotry,  there  is  involved,  in  either 
form,  so  much  of  passion  and  propensity,  as  to 
overpower  the  conscience,  and  to  warp  the  w^hole 
perception  of  moral  right.  Whether  it  be  the 
eastern  or  the  western  mind,  it  is  all  the  same. 
The  spirit  of  Jesuitism,  though  its  measures  may 
be  more  dangerous  when  systematized  by  rule 
and  adopted  by  a  fraternity,  is  not  less  unhal- 
lowed, when  you  find  it  joined  with  an  evangeli- 
cal faith  and  an  American  character.  It  is  the 
same  old  Satan  transforming  himself  again  into 
an  angel  of  light,  for  the  poisoning  of  the  faith, 
and  the  destruction  of  the  saints.  But  even 
where  rehgion  is  not  the  object,  the  spirit  of  in- 
sincerity may  be  traced  in  the  common  forms  of 
Christian  society.  Many  of  the  maxims  of  poli- 
tics, many  of  the  practices  of  mercantile  life, 
many  of  the  rules  of  professional  conduct,  many 
of  the  laws  of  politeness  and  good  breeding, 
even  among  Christian  people,  are  based  upon  in- 
15 


170  ADORNMENTS   OF    THE 

sincerity,  deception  and  mere  policy.  They  are 
all  alilvc  opposed  to  the  simplicity  and  truthful- 
ness of  character,  which  is  commended  by  the 
apostle  to  our  Christian  thoughts.  It  is  the 
more  strange  that  this  spirit  of  untruth  should 
hold  such  sway  in  the  religious  forms  of  society, 
"when  we  remember  that  our  God  has  declared 
himself  pre-eminently  a  God  of  truth,  and  that 
in  proportion  to  the  dignity  and  lustre  of  this  at- 
tribute, must  be  his  hatred  of  whatsoever  loveth 
or  maketh  a  lie.  To  his  immaculate  truthfulness 
it  would  seem  there  could  be  nothing  more  odi- 
ous than  deception,  and  not  without  a  reason 
that  is  level  to  our  own  understanding.  For  sin- 
cerity is  the  basis  of  all  noble  and  manly  traits. 
It  is  the  heroism  of  humanity,  approaching  more 
nearly  the  god-like  than  any  other  quality.  It 
is  the  root  of  all  courage  and  earnestness  in  re- 
ligious enterprize,  at  the  same  time  that  it  is  no 
less  the  life  of  private  devotion.  It  imparts  to 
confession  all  its  generosity  and  dignity,  to  re- 
pentance all  its  renovating  power,  to  faith  its 
whole-hearted  confidence,  and  to  prayer  and  praise 
all  their  acceptableness  to  God.  And,  in  our 
human  relations,  it  is  the  basis  of  all  honest  deal- 
ing between  man  and  man,  rising  above  law,  and 
above  custom,  and  above  prejudice,  and  interest, 
and  fear.     As  it  is  Satan's  opposite,  so  it  is  his 


CHRISTIAN    CHARACTER.  171 

most  powerful  antagonist.  If  he  can  only  de- 
ceive us,  or  what  is  still  better  for  him,  make  us 
deceive  ourselves  and  others,  then  he  is  content. 
He  has  gained  a  new  ally.  He  may  fold  his 
arms  and  sit  aloof,  and  smile  a  sardonic  smile, 
while  his  bosom  boils  with  triumph  against  God 
and  his  grace,  at  the  self-destruction  of  his  saints. 
There  is  need  of  greater  conscientiousness  among 
Christian  people,  touching  all  the  modes  of  direct 
and  indirect  deception.  There  is  wanting  a  more 
powerful  infusion  of  sincerity  into  the  habits  of 
society,  and  the  private  treatment  by  Christians 
of  each  other.  Of  all  faults,  the  want  of  tliis  is 
most  radical  and  dangerous.  Of  all  virtues,  none 
is  more  lustrous  and  celestial.  Whatsoever 
things  are  true,  then  let  us  think  of  these  things. 
Again,  says  the  apostle,  "Whatsoever  things 
are  honest,"  think  of  these.  By  the  word  honest, 
we  are  to  understand,  not  what  is  commonly  de- 
noted by  that  word,  fairness  of  dealing;  but,  as  it 
is  translated  elsewhere,  a  gravity  of  manner,  a 
reverend  demeanour,  a  sound  speech  which  can- 
not be  condemned.  Whatsoever  then  may  be 
the  appropriate  manifestation  of  such  high  hopes 
and  noble  longings  as  are  the  Christian's  privi- 
leged feelings,  whatsoever  is  becoming  in  man- 
ner and  conversation,  in  one  who  has  an  immor- 
tal birthright  glowing  like  light  before  him,  to 


172  ADORNMENTS   OF   THE 

which  he  asph^es  with  an  enthusiasm  that  grasps 
every  faculty,  fastens  every  ambition,  and  nour- 
ishes every  love;  whatsoever  is  befitting  the  be- 
haviour of  one  whose  familiar  friend  and  compan- 
ion is  Jesus  Christ  the  Lord,  think  of  it,  says 
the  apostle.     Let  such  demeanour  be  yours. 

When  Moses  came  down  from  the  mountain^ 
there  lingered  upon  his  unconscious  face  the  re- 
flected light  of  the  Divine  majesty.  He  needed 
not  to  say  that  he  had  communed  with  God. 
The  clinging  radiance  betra^^ed  him.  His  pres- 
ence beamed  with  the  reverend  glory,  and  they 
who  saw  him,  saw  him  so  changed  that  they 
would  have  veiled  his  countenance  as  if  he  were 
the  insufferable  Divinity  itself.  True  godliness 
is  a  manifesting  power.  It  must  show  itself. 
Among  the  various  circumstances  of  social  life, 
there  will  be  some  which  bring  out  the  true 
Christian  almost  in  spite  of  himself. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  he  who  appears  to 
be  a  Christian  is  always  truly  such,  for  even  the 
fine  gold  may  be  counterfeited  in  colour,  in  splen- 
dour, in  weight;  and  the  counterfeit,  while  it  is 
undetected,  will  be  as  useful  currency,  and  buy 
as  much  as  the  true  coin.  But  I  simply  mean,  that 
though  gold  may  be  counterfeited,  it  cannot  be 
thoroughly  disguised.  Its  colour  will  be  clearer 
on  inspection,  its  brightness  will  shine  more  by 


CHRISTIAN   CHARACTER.  173 

attrition,  and  its  solid  ring  will  resound  from  the 
pavement  the  harder  it  is  tried.  So  the  true 
Christian,  in  proportion  as  he  is  true,  will  seem 
to  be  such. 

The  sober  earnestness  of  a  heart  converted 
from  frivolity  to  solemn  realizations,  of  a  spirit  pro- 
foundly peaceful,  reposing  in  Jehovah's  arms,  of 
a  temper  changed  from  gross  and  carnal  to  angelic, 
and  of  desires  and  affections  binding  his  heart  like 
chains  to  the  throne  of  God  his  Saviour.  Such 
a  sober  earnestness,  not  morose,  but  calm,  not 
dull  and  uncheerful,  but  still  not  wildly  gay,  will 
be  the  habitual  temper  and  manifestation  of  the 
true  Christian.  Others  will  take  knowledge  of 
him,  that  he  has  been  with  Jesus.  There  wiU 
go  forth  from  his  very  silent  presence  a  restraint 
upon  ungodliness.  A  gentle  and  reverend  light 
will  betoken  him.  Pie  will  be  felt  in  society, 
beneficially  and  thankfully  felt,  even  by  the 
thoughtless  and  desperate. 

This  is  the  living  epistle  of  which  St.  Paul 
speaks,  known  and  read  of  all  men.  It  con- 
strains the  regard  of  men,  and  makes  them  rev- 
erence the  Gospel.  It  is  a  powerful  mode  of 
influence,  and,  let  me  add,  one  of  the  easiest,  as 
it  is  the  most  appropriate.  Whatsoever  things 
then  are  reverend,  grave  and  seemly  in  a  child 
of  God,  oh!   think  of  them,   and   make  them 


174  ADORNMENTS   OF   THE 

yours.  Let  your  manner  be  sober,  your  deport- 
ment serious,  your  conversation  rational  and  edi- 
fying, that  your  friends  may  feel,  when  you  have 
been  with  them,  that  they  have  breathed  the 
odour  of  a  better  life. 

Again,  "Whatsoever  things  are  just,  think  on 
these  things."  Here  is  an  exhortation  to  simple 
fairness  and  integrity  among  men.  This  is  one 
of  the  elementary  rules  of  moral  j^hilosophy,  not 
grafted  upon  the  gospel,  but  springing  out  of  it, 
and  showing  that,  rightly  understood,  religion 
and  morality  are  of  the  same  stock.  Be  just  in 
your  dealings  with  mankind.  Be  no  respecter 
of  persons.  Do  not  cringe  to  wealth,  and  state, 
and  power,  and  tyrannize  over  poverty  and  mis- 
fortune. Remember  that  the  vilest  offcast  whom 
society  has  ever  branded,  has  a  claim  upon  the 
most  virtuous  for  sympathy  and  help;  not  the 
claim  of  mercy,  which  you  may  hear  at  a  lofty 
distance  and  stoop  as  by  a  condescension  to  an- 
swer, but  the  claim  of  absolute  and  imperative 
justice  as  your  brother  or  sister  in  human  nature, 
Avhich  you  are  bound  to  listen  to — standing  on 
their  level,  in  contact  with  them — to  hear  their 
case,  to  supply  their  need,  to  right  their  wrong. 
Justice  is  a  pagan  virtue  indeed,  but  so  it  is  a 
Christian;  and  it  is  both  pagan  and  Christian, 
because  it  is  a  human  duty,  a  universal  dut}^,  a 


CHRISTIAN   CIIARACTEIl.  175 

perpetual  duty.  Do  not  think  you  can  be  un- 
just and  be  a  Christian  too.  And  remember  that 
justice  is  not  measured  always  by  human  laws. 
They  are  narrow,  local,  changeable.  They  some- 
times make  right  wrong,  and  wrong  right.  The 
law  may  wink  at  many  an  unfair  dealing,  which 
God  will  not  away  with.  You  ma}^  defraud  a 
creditor,  or  grind  the  face  of  the  poor,  or  make 
gain  out  of  a  friend's  misfortune,  instead  of  reliev- 
ing it,  and  all  the  while  no  human  statute  shall 
be  able  to  grasp  that  felony  of  the  heart.  But 
oh !  to  God's  bar  let  the  unfortunate  one  appeal, 
and  you  are  defaulted.  There  is  the  true  appeal. 
There  rises,  in  pure  glory,  the  eternal  standard 
of  rectitude  by  which  you  must  be  judged,  by 
wdiich  you  should  judge.  Justice  is  higher  than 
law.  It  is  commensurate  with  mercy.  Human 
mercy  is  only  justice.  "Whatsoever  things  are 
just,  then  think  on  these  things." 

Again,  "  Whatsoever  things  are  pure,  think  on 
these."  By  purity  we  may  understand  freedom 
from  those  carnal  lusts  and  appetites  which  make 
a  sensualist.  It  is  an  exhortation  to  spiritual- 
mindedness.  In  a  soft  and  sensual  age,  Christi- 
anity had  a  mission  of  no  easy  accomplishment. 
Less  sensual  our  generation  may  be,  but  where 
there  are  senses  there  will  be  sensual  induce- 
ments.    How  antagonistic  to  godliness  the  habit 


176  ADORNMENTS   OF   THE 

of  impurity  is,  it  needs  no  homily  to  show.  It  is 
the  precise  opposite  of  a  spiritual  mind,  fitted  by 
its  very  shape  and  power  to  contradict  every  im- 
pulse of  piety.  It  deadens  every  holy  sensibility. 
It  drains  the  very  j^ith  and  marrow  of  the  moral 
frame,  leaving  it  only  a  stark  skeleton  in  ghastly 
disease.  When  it  seizes  on  the  thoughts  it  per- 
verts every  faculty.  It  looks  at  everything  through 
the  medium  of  lust.  All  taste,  all  sentiment,  all 
affection,  all  intercourse  becomes  poisoned  by  this 
leaven  of  grossness.  To  the  pure,  says  the 
apostle,  all  things  are  pure;  but  unto  them 
that  are  defiled  nothing  is  pure,  but  even  their 
mind  and  conscience  is  defiled.  They  profess 
that  they  know  God,  but  in  works  they  deny 
him,  being  abominable  and  disobedient,  and  unto 
every  good  work  reprobate.  I  would  not  desire, 
even  if  I  could,  to  deepen  the  solemnity  of  this 
declaration.  Fearful  enough  it  is  to  think  of  the 
soul's  eye,  so  bleared  with  the  humours  of  its 
lusts  as  to  distort  its  vision,  and  turn  everything 
it  sees  into  corruption,  and  to  remember  that  only 
the  pure  in  heart  can  see  God,  or  appreciate  his 
holiness,  or  enjoy  his  love.  Let  the  Christian 
guard  against  it  in  thought,  no  less  than  in  act. 
Let  him  check  the  roving  eye,  and  cast  away  the 
licentious  book,  and  purify  his  spirit  with  the  in- 
cense of  prayer,  in  order  to  be  as  becomes  a 
brother  or  sister  of  the  spotless  Saviour. 


CHRISTIAN     CHARACTER.  177 

Again,  "Whatsoever  things  are  lovely,  think 
on  these  things."  Besides  the  honest,  stahvart 
virtues  of  truth  and  justice — besides  the  healthful 
attributes  of  soberness  and  purity,  we  are  now 
told  the  Christian  must  be  endued  with  qualities 
of  another  sort,  namely,  ornamental  qualities. 
We  must  have  whatsoever  is  lovely  in  character 
and  manner.  This  seems  at  first  view  to  be  a 
minute  and  unworthy  injunction  to  be  set  forth 
with  the  solemnity  of  apostolic  authority.  Shall 
the  Christian,  whose  soul  is  engrossed  with  the  big 
realities  of  an  eternal  world,  fritter  aAvay  his 
regard  upon  traits  of  character  which,  to  speak 
the  best  of  them,  are  only  lovely?  Shall  he 
study  the  proprieties  of  mere  manner?  Yes, 
my  brethren,  so  says  our  inspired  teacher.  Think 
on  whatsoever  is  lovely,  in  order  to  practise  it. 
It  was  not  without  reason  that  the  ancients  de- 
nominated manners  as  the  lesser  morals.  Good 
manners  are  the  polish  of  society,  even  as  good 
morals  are  its  golden  band.  Morals  are  the 
security,  manners  are  the  beauty,  of  the  social 
state.  As  those  render  it  safe  to  live  with  our 
fellows,  so  these  make  it  pleasant.  Society 
cannot  subsist  at  all  without  something  of  what- 
soever is  just  and  true,  and  neither  can  it  subsist 
happily  without  something  of  whatsoever  is 
lovely.     The  kind  speech,  the  gentle  demeanour, 


178  ADORNxMENTS   OF   THE 

the  amiable  sympathy,  the  tender  forbearance  of 
insult,  the  accommodation  to  others'  weaknesses, 
kindness  to  inferiors,  deference  to  superiors, 
frankness  to  equals,  affability  and  goodness  to  all, 
the  waiving  of  precedence,  consideration  shown 
even  to  prejudice  and  unreasonableness — these 
lovely  things,  the  constituents  of  good  breeding, 
are  like  a  necklace  of  pearls  for  the  adornment 
of  society.  Without  them  the  dwelling-place  of 
society  would  be  a  stye — with  them  it  is  a  palace ; 
nay  more,  it  is  a  sweet  and  beautiful  home.  They 
are  bounden  Christian  duties,  because  good 
breeding  is  but  the  garb  of  benevolence,  and  it 
shoAvs  how  essential  to  human  happiness  benevo- 
lence is,  that  society  even  assumes  the  virtue  if 
she  has  it  not. 

But  the  Christian  does  not  falsely  assume  it. 
Benevolence  is  the  human  direction  of  his  religion. 
And  he  is  bound  to  act  it  out  in  all  the  loveliness 
of  good  manners,  because  he  professes  to  have  its 
principle  dwelling  with  a  living  power  in  his 
heart.  No  man  should  be  so  well-bred  as  the 
Christian,  not  indeed  in  the  training  of  artificial 
and  fashionable  modes,  but  by  the  instinctive 
promptings  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  leading  him  not 
only  to  be  benevolent,  but  to  seem  what  he  is. 
Whatsoever  things  are  lovely  then  in  deportment 
and  life,  think  on  them,  fellow-christians,  as  your 
serious  duties. 


CHRISTIAN     CHARACTER.  179 

And  noWj  finally^  "Whatsoever  things  are  of 
good  report,  if  there  be  any  virtue,  if  any  praise, 
think  on  these  things."  Here  is  a  plain  intimation 
that  the  Christian  is  to  regard  in  his  conduct  the 
opinion  of  others.  Not  that  he  may  sacrifice  his 
principles,  or  ever  be  anything  than  what  is  con- 
sistent with  grave  and  solemn  duty.  But  he  is 
to  take  heed  that  good  be  not  evil  spoken  of  He 
is  to  adorn  the  doctrine  of  God  the  Saviour,  not 
only  by  solid  virtues  and  lovely  traits  and  graces, 
but  by  consulting  even  the  opinions  of  the  wise 
and  considerate  in  things  which  might  not  be  in 
themselves  wrong  and  sinful.  The  apostle  thus 
suggests  a  subject  which  opens  largely  into  the 
discussion  of  the  influence  of  example  on  the 
reputation  of  religion  as  a  Christian  motive,  a 
discussion  too  large  for  our  present  opportunity. 
I  have  only  time  to  commend  it  to  your  con- 
sciences, and  to  remind  you  how  the  eyes  of  a 
gainsaying  world  are  fixed  upon  the  Church,  and 
how  its  carping  tongue  is  read}^  to  utter  cavil  and 
contempt  against  the  followers  of  Jesus,  and  to 
reproach  every  one  who  mingles  in  its  loved 
scenes  of  questionable  purity  and  its  practices  of 
doubtful  morality;  which,  to  say  the  least,  give 
the  Christian  soul  no  edification,  no  added  fitness 
for  heaven,  which  inspire  no  purer  hope,  nor 
more  spiritual  joy,  but  rather  deaden  the  already 
living  impulses  of  God  within  him. 


180  THE   CHRISTIAN   CILVRACTER. 

Avoid  them  then,  clear  brethren,  if  they  be  not 
of  good  report,  turn  from  them  and  pass  away, 
be  contented  with  purer  associations,  be  satisfied 
with  the  holy  reflection  that  shall  give  peace  to 
your  death-bed  and  rapture  to  your  eternity,  that, 
so  far  as  you  were  concerned,  you  kept  the  robe 
of  Christ  which  you  wore  on  earth  pure  from  all 
fdthiness,  or  stigma,  or  reproach. 

If  ye  do  these  things  ye  shall  never  fall,  and 
the  peace  of  God,  which  passeth  understanding, 
shall  keep  your  hearts  and  minds  through  Jesus 
Christ.     Amen. 


SERMON   X, 


THE  DIFFICULTIES  OF  SALVATION, 


1  Peter  iv.  18. 


"  If  the  righteous  scarcely  be  saved,  where  shall  the  un- 
godly AND  the  sinner  APPEAR?" 

The  apostle  does  not  say,  "  If  the  righteous  be 
saved,"  as  if  there  were  any  doubt  on  that  question ; 
but  if  they  "scarcel?/  be  saved/'  implying  that, 
however  sure  their  salvation  may  be,  it  is  to 
be  secured  against  many  difficulties  and  severe 
opposition. 

It  is  plain  that  there  is  no  expressed  doubt  of 
the  final  triumph  of  the  righteous.  It  seems  to 
be  a  part  of  the  Divine  plan  to  single  out  the 
Christian  for  peculiar  trials  from  which  the  com- 
mon multitude  are  exempted.  It  seems  to  belong 
to  the  very  nature  of  the  Christian  life,  to  meet 
with  trials  and  anxieties  which  can  happen  to 
none  but  a  Christian.  Although  from  one  point 
of  view  it  is  an  easy  and  a  dehghtful  thing  to  be 
a  Christian,  from  another  it  is  a  most  anxious  and 
IG  (181) 


182  TIIE    DIFFICULTIES   OF    SALVATION. 

difficult  undertaking.  Viewed  from  that  high 
level  on  which  eternity  shines,  from  whence  we 
behold  the  blissful  issue  to  which  the  Christian 
path  leads  on,  and  viewed  by  one  who  can  under- 
stand the  superior  sources  of  joy  which  the  Chris- 
tian has  in  himself  and  in  God,  the  Christian  life 
seems  a  w^ay  of  pleasantness  and  all  its  paths 
seem  peace.  But  viewed  by  the  light  of  this  life, 
and  in  reference  to  the  common  principles  of  flesh 
and  blood,  the  course  of  piety  is  a  long  endurance, 
which  has  but  little  to  interest  and  nothing  to 
captivate  the  common  heart  of  the  w^orld. 

For  the  Christian  is  made  of  flesh  and  blood 
as  well  as  of  soul  and  spirit,  and  his  lower  nature 
will  very  often  make  itself  heard  and  felt  in  the 
agony  of  its  trial,  in  spite  of  those  celestial  im- 
pulses and  those  inspiring  views  of  Divine  things 
which  would  otherwise  make  his  life  an  antici- 
pated heaven.  It  is  these  trials  of  our  natural 
constitution  which  make  up  the  difficulties  of  the 
Christian  life.  They  are  real  trials,  verj^  severe 
and  very  formidable. 

I  shall,  therefore,  invite  you  to  consider  the 
subject  implied  by  the  expression,  "If  the 
righteous  scarcely  be  saved."  That  subject  ma}'' 
be  entitled,  "The  difficulties  in  the  way  of  a 
Christian's  salvation." 

It  is  quite  plain  that,  however  sure  the  way  of 


THE   DIFFICULTIES   OF    SALVATION.  183 

a  godly  man  may  be,  and  however  matchless  the 
eternal  weight  of  his  bliss  be3^ond  the  grave,  3^et 
he  is  saved  with  great  difficulty  after  all.  He  is 
just  saved  and  no  more.  His  path  to  glory  lies 
along  the  very  brink  of  ruin.  His  salvation  will 
be  a  wonder  to  all  eternity. 

Salvation  began  in  difficulty.  In  the  counsels 
of  God  there  was  an  apparent  opposition  to  mercy. 
Confficting  attributes  of  Jehovah,  to  speak  after 
the  manner  of  men,  conflicting  attributes  hard  to 
be  reconciled,  and  the  plan  of  redemption  was  to 
human  eyes  a  compromise.  Justice  and  truth 
were  at  strife  with  compassion.  How  long  the 
travail  of  our  peace  lasted  we  are  not  told.  But 
it  was  not  developed  until  after  weary  ages  of 
man's  unmitigated  sin.  And  if  there  was  diffi- 
culty in  the  conception  so  there  was  in  the  exe- 
cution of  our  redemption.  The  supernatural  had 
to  clothe  itself  with  the  natural.  God  had  to 
encompass  himself  with  man.  The  Infinite  had 
to  stoop  down  and  enter  within  the  finite.  That 
which  seems  absurd  in  reasoning,  paradoxical  in 
statement,  and  impossible  in  fact,  had  to  be  com- 
pletely effected  before  salvation,  as  a  scheme, 
could  be  finished.  So  difficult  a  thing  to  be  con- 
quered, even  by  omnipotent  love,  is  human  sin. 
And  this  wonderful  arrangement  makes  the  salva- 
tion of  man  the  perpetual  myBiery  of  redemption. 


184  TirE    DIFFICULTIES   OF    SALVATION. 

And  on  the  cross,  where  all  the  mighty  plan  was 
wrought  out,  our  faith,  like  a  telescope,  brings 
into  open  view  the  difficulty  which  was  felt  in 
heaven  to  be  in  the  way  of  human  happiness. 
The  crucifixion  was  the  last  agony  of  that  dilli- 
culty.  As  it  showed  the  plan  to  be  practicable, 
so  it  showed  how  near  it  came  to  an  impossibility. 
Nature  herself  could  not  yield  her  consent  to  the 
awful  fact  without  a  mighty  travail.  The  heavens 
and  the  earth  sympathized  with  the  Divine  diffi- 
culty with  groans,  and  trembling,  and  dark 
mourning.  We  shall  see  no  such  revelation  of 
Divine  things  again,  until  we  see  the  difficulty 
unfolded  in  all  its  length  and  breadth  in  the  con- 
summation of  the  judgment  day. 

These  were  what  w^e  may  call  the  Divine 
obstacles  to  our  salvation,  and  when  we  survey 
and  estimate  them,  it  seems  as  if  man,  though 
redeemed,  was  scarcely  redeemed  by  the  cross. 
Just  redeemed,  no  more.  And  this  view,  being 
finished,  might  lead  us  to  turn  our  minds  to  see 
how  this  redemption  of  all  mankind  was  to  be 
turned  into  salvation  for  its  individual  members. 

If  the  Divine  difficulty  was  so  great,  what 
must  the  human  difficulties  be?  We  might  ex- 
pect that  salvation  would  not  be  easy  to  us,  which 
was  so  full  of  difiiculty  to  God  himself  With 
all  the  obduracy  of  that  most  impenetrable  thing, 


THE   DIFFICULTIES   OF   SiiLVATION.  185 

an  unhumbled  heart,  and  with  all  the  stiffness  of 
a  depraved  will  bent  away  from  all  good  and  holy 
actions,  the  work  of  regeneration  seems  to  be  a 
process  at  least  as  difficult  as  creation,  the  mak- 
ing of  something  out  of  nothing;  nay,  more  diffi- 
cult, for  in  creation  there  w^as  only  something  to 
he  made,  but  in  regeneration  there  is  something  to 
be  fu^st  unmade.  In  the  former  there  was,  to  say 
the  most,  only  a  negative  resistance  to  no  being; 
but  in  the  latter,  there  is  the  active  and  strong 
repugnance  of  an  angry  will.  The  whole  living 
nature  of  man  was  a  difficulty. 

And  there  will  be  difficulties  springing  out  of 
the  same  corruption  of  nature  as  it  is  influenced 
by  a  tempting  world  without,  and  tempting  spirits 
within.  Although  regenerated,  the  Christian  is 
neither  glorified  nor  translated.  He  is  a  denizen 
of  a  corrupted  earth,  the  possessor  of  a  sensitive 
nature,  and,  therefore,  oftentimes  the  victim  of  a 
cunning  foe. 

The  Scriptures  commonly  represent  a  life  of 
piety  as  a  wrestling,  a  w^arfare,  a  pilgrimage,  a 
race.  It  is  not  an  easy  slide  into  salvation.  It 
is  not  a  quiet  and  dozing  journey,  by  which  we 
are  drawn  along  through  life  in  pleasant  dreams 
and  wake  up  in  heaven.  The  inducements  of  life 
and  society,  howsoever  good  in  their  right  use, 
become  the  tempting  causes  of  sin  to  the  best 
16* 


186  TIIE   DIFFICULTIES  OF   S.VLVATION. 

men,  engrossing  the  thoughts,  then  the  sensibili- 
ties, and  then  the  heart,  until  the  whole  consent- 
ing man  is  in  danger  of  being  sacrificed 

The  chief  danger  of  the  world  to  Christian  men 
and  women  is,  that  they  will  not  only  use  it  but 
serve  it.  It  is  not  that  a  blight  and  curse  has 
passed  over  everything  that  God  has  made,  so 
that  it  is  all  bad  and  only  bad.  Nature  is  sweet, 
and  society  is  sweet,  and  life  is  a  blessing  in  it- 
self, and  business  and  recreation  are  both  neces- 
sary to  the  sustaining  and  recruiting  of  our  lives- 
Wealth  is  not  necessarily  an  evil.  It  is  only  the 
love  of  it  which  is  the  deep  root  of  evil.  Genius, 
strength,  beauty,  accomplishments,  are  not  the 
spontiineous  sources  of  sin.  They  are  each  and 
all  so  many  Divine  gifts  and  talents,  and  their 
use  and  enjoyment  is  not  a  crime,  but  a 
chartered  privilege  and  a  bounden  duty.  They 
ought  to  be  to  the  Christian  what  they  would  be 
to  an  angel,  high  and  virtuous  incitements,  waking 
up  the  soul  to  gratitude  and  adoration  of  the 
Giver,  soliciting  forth  noble  impulses  of  duty, 
glad  returns  of  love  and  an  entire  devotion  to 
his  glory. 

The  great  temptation  of  the  Christian  is  to 
inordinate  affection,  loving  all  these  things  better 
than  they  deserve,  exalting  means  into  ends, 
making  that  an  object  which  was  meant  to  be 


THE   DIFFICULTIES   OF    SALVATION.  187 

only  an  occasion.  His  regard  for  the  world  is 
liable  to  degenerate  into  a  passion.  His  com- 
merce with  the  world  may  easily  become  too 
much.  His  rehsh  of  life  and  its  good  things, 
his  hurrying  chase  of  business  or  pleasure,  then 
take  on  the  odious  character  of  idolatry.  He 
loves  the  creature  more  than  the  creator.  The 
voice  of  conscience  is  smothered;  the  view  of 
eternity  becomes  rare  and  unpleasant ;  the  state 
of  his  soul  is  forgotten  and  not  inquired  into; 
until,  if  he  goes  on  thus,  his  nature  becomes 
steeped  in  worldliness,  and  his  spirit  grows  drun- 
ken and  insensible.  That  Christian  has  virtually 
another  God,  whether  it  be  pleasure,  or  fashion, 
or  reputation,  or  money,  or  sensual  ease.  His 
heart  is  a  desecrated  temple,  whose  altar  is  torn 
down,  whose  proportions  are  broken,  and  whose 
sacred  adornments  are  dismantled  and  trodden. 
The  common  air  of  the  world  whistles  and  howls 
through  it,  instead  of  God's  melodies ;  and  foul 
birds  and  vermin  dwell  where  the  Holy  Ghost 
dwelt. 

And  this  all  comes  of  the  excessive  tampering 
with  innocent  pursuits  and  pleasures.  It  comes 
from  abusing  the  world  in  its  use.  It  comes 
from  easily  deciding  that  because  a  thing  was  not 
a  sin  in  itself,  therefore  no  use  of  it  could  be 
sinful.     It  comes  from  an  outward  habit  of  too 


188  THE   DIFFICULTIES   OF    SALVATION. 

much  engagement  witli  the  world,  and  this  habit 
came  from  the  want  of  an  inward  motive  of  do- 
ing everything,  and  using  everything,  in"  subor- 
dination to  the  Divine  will. 

The  only  safeguard  against  all  this,  is  to  make 
the  glory  of  God  the  supreme  aim  of  his  life. 
To  use  all  things,  and  enjoy  all  things,  as  if  God's 
eye  were  ujDon  him,  and  he  was  to  render  him  an 
immediate  account.  He  is  in  no  danger  from  the 
world  while  the  world  is  outside  of  him,  while 
he  looks  at  it  as  a  thing  separated  from  himself, 
to  be  used  but  not  to  be  identified  with  his  feel- 
ings, or  his  life. 

The  danger  from  the  world  is,  when  it  creeps 
into  our  hearts  and  fills  and  crowds  the  place  of 
our  affections,  where  God  should  be.  Worldli- 
ness  consists  in  the  world  that  is  within  us,  not 
in  the  world  that  is  without. 

I  speak  not  now  of  practices  and  pursuits 
which  are  immoral  and  confessedly  bad.  I  sup- 
pose the  Christian  exempted,  by  his  regeneration, 
from  the  power  of  such  things.  But  I  speak 
only  of  such  as  are  innocent  in  themselves,  or  so 
plausible  that  they  can  easily  represent  them- 
selves as  innocent.  They  have  an  allowed  place 
in  our  hearts  ;  we  fondle  them,  nurse  them,  miss 
them  when  they  are  absent,  until,  bye  and  bye, 
they  insidiously  grow  to  master  us,  lulling  us 


THE    DIFFICULTIES   OF    SALVATION.  189 

with  dreamy  music,  twining  silken  cords  round 
our  affections,  one  by  one,  until,  Avlien  we  awake, 
we  find  ourselves  fixed  in  immovable  apostasy 
from  all  holy  delights.  No  common  might  can 
then  free  us ;  no  usual  solicitation  of  God's  sweet 
spirit  can  dissolve  the  endearment  of  that  charm. 
In  a  sort  of  giddy,  delirious  joy,  we  hug  the 
dear  world,  and  shut  our  ears  to  conscience  and 
eternity. 

Oh!  it  needs  much  light  from  God,  a  clear 
view  of  consequences,  a  simple  and  sincere  faith, 
and  a  most  pui'e  and  honest  conscience.  A  soul 
ought  to  be  very  familiar  with  eternity  to  judge 
rightly  of  such  things.  A  Christian  ought  to 
realize  his  death-bed  every  day,  in  order  to  be 
safe  from  mistake ;  and  above  all  things  he  ought 
to  be  so  accustomed  to  ask  counsel  of  his  Saviour, 
that  his  mind  shall  always  be  able  to  test  a  ques- 
tion of  duty,  with  a  Divine  discretion.  And 
when  we  remember  how  many,  and  how  pleasant 
those  delights  are,  and  mark  how  many  followers 
of  Jesus  have  fallen  away  from  him  through 
such  entanglements,  it  seems  strange  that  any 
can  be  saved,  and  we  cannot  help  thinking  they 
can  '^ scarccli/  be  saved." 

And  another  difficulty  of  salvation  lies  not  in 
worldly  indulgence,  but  in  the  tendencies  of  our 
moral  disposition.     Besides  the  outward  tempta- 


190  THE   DIFFICULTIES   OF   SALVATION. 

tions  of  life,  our  inward  impulses  become  sources 
of  sinning,  far  more  hard  to  be  repressed  than 
mere  worldly  conformity.  Pride,  and  suspicion, 
and  envy,  and  uncharitableness,  have  no  outward 
sign,  no  visible  form  by  which  we  know  when 
they  invade  our  souls.  AVe  can  see,  and  touch, 
and  handle  the  objects  of  the  w^orld,  and,  if  they 
come  too  near  our  hearts,  we  can  repel  them.  If 
wx  feel  that  we  are  enslaved  to  any  worldly 
thing,  we  know  where  to  strike  in  order  to  break 
the  chain  that  binds  us  to  it.  But  the  insidious- 
ness  of  our  moral  propensities,  makes  them  our 
most  dangerous  foes.  While  we  are  watching 
the  enemy  that  is  seen,  we  are  ambushed  by  one 
that  is  hidden.  One  may  be  very  exemplar}^  in 
his  abstinence  from  the  world,  who  is  blindly 
wicked  in  his  social  human  feeling.  He  may  be 
punctilious  in  his  devotions,  and  his  very  pra3^ers 
may  be  conceived  in  such  a  temper  as  to  nourish 
his  ill  nature  and  his  spu'itual  pride.  Christ's 
gentle  spirit  is  oftener  w^ounded  by  malevolence 
burrowing  in  the  heart,  and  far  more  keenly 
w^oundcd,  than  by  the  thoughtless  addiction  of 
the  Christian  to  too  much  of  the  world.  It  is 
harder  to  be  a  mild  and  forgiving  Christian,  than 
it  is  to  be  an  anchorite — harder  to  be  humble, 
than  to  wear  sackcloth — to  be  penitent,  than  to 
do  penance.     It  is  easier  to  pray  aU  day,  than  it 


THE   DIFFICULTIES   OF    SALVATION.  191 

is  not  to  be  proud  that  we  pray;  easier  to  regu- 
late our  lives,  than  to  keep  our  hearts.  Love  is 
the  tenderest,  and  the  vital  cord  of  the  Christian 
life,  yet  love  is  more  sinned  against  by  the  Chris- 
tian, than  any  other  virtue. 

Often,  under  a  sanctimonious  air,  will  be 
cloaked  the  spirit  of  discontent,  and  fault-find- 
ing, and  uncharitable  surmisings  of  heart,  some- 
times breaking  out  in  unfriendly  words,  and 
^vicked  gossip,  and  false  accusations,  that  show 
more  clearly  the  foulness  of  their  source,  than 
the  fault  of  their  subject.  They  prove,  at  least, 
that  there  is  one  wicked  Christian  who  has  many 
difficulties  of  the  worst  sort  to  overcome,  before 
he  can  be  saved.  I  say  many  difficulties,  for  he 
who  violates  Christian  love,  has  to  sacrifice  all 
the  beautiful  attendants  which  wait  at  her  door : 
humility,  and  gentleness,  and  single-heartedness, 
and  honesty  towards  God  and  men,  and  the  outer 
guard  of  all,  a  pure  tongue.  And  the  foul  feel- 
ings that  enter  in,  are  pride,  boasting  itself  better 
than  his  neighbour ;  envy,  glad  to  detract  from 
his  neighbour's  excellence ;  sophistication  of  heart, 
practised  in  its  own  corruption;  deceitfulness, 
wearing  the  appearance  of  a  friendship  it  does 
not  feel. 

To  attemper  the  soul  to  love,  to  have  it  always 
kind  and  considerate  to  others'  w^eaknesses,  to 


192  THE   DIFFICULTIES  OF   SALVATION. 

restrain  the  tongue  from  scandal,  and  the  feelings 
from  suspicion,  to  hide  the  fault  we  see  from  en- 
vious and  gloating  eyes,  to  mourn  over  a  friend's 
foibles  as  if  they  were  our  own,  to  mourn  over 
them  as  Christ  does,  and  pray  for  them  as  he 
prays,  with  patient  intercession,  night  and  day ; 
this  is  a  dear  accomplishment  which  is  beyond 
our  easy  reach.  It  is  a  difficulty  in  our  wa}^  so 
great  that  when  we  think  of  it,  it  seems  as  if  the 
best  of  us  could  scarcely  be  saved. 

I  said  that  when  we  offend  against  love,  w^e 
commit  many  sins  in  one.  The  vices  are  an  un- 
weaned  brood.  They  go  in  flocks.  AVhere  one 
enters,  they  all  nestle  together,  and  the  danger 
of  the  Christian  is,  that  in  the  careless  guarding 
of  his  heart,  they  will  creep  in  while  he  thinks 
least  of  them,  and  turn  his  heart  to  a  cage  of 
unclean  birds. 

Whether  it  be  pride  satisfied  or  mortified — 
whether  it  be  love  of  admiration,  or  of  notice 
from  others,  or  discontent  at  Providence,  or  any 
other  sinful  feeling,  it  rarel}^  enters  alone  into  the 
heart.  It  never  can  day  alone — no  true  Chris- 
tian virtue  can  live  with  it  long.  It  destroys  all 
that  is  good  within.  It  surreptitiously  betrays 
the  soul  into  the  hands  of  the  great  enemy,  and 
gives  it  up  to  be  lost. 

It  is  a  very  mournful  view  of  human  nature, 


THE   DIFFICULTIES   OF   SALVATION.  193 

and  seems  to  make  but  little  of  the  power  of  re- 
generation. But  it  is  a  true  view  of  much  of 
the  life  that  is  commonly  called  Christian.  It 
does  not,  however,  derogate  any  thing  from  Di- 
vine grace,  though  it  brand  with  flagrant  condem- 
nation this  too  frequent  alliance  of  human  pride 
and  human  depravity — real  imbecility  Avith  fan- 
cied strength.  "Thou  thinkest  that  thou  art 
rich  and  increased  in  goods,  and  knowest  not 
that  thou  art  wretched,  and  miserable,  and  poor, 
and  blind,  and  naked." 

And  these  are  difficulties  which  the  righteous 
Christian  feels  the  most  fearfully,  for  the  very 
reason  that  he  is  not  their  victim.  Those  per- 
sons who  yield  to  them,  are  generally  unconscious 
of  their  power,  and  yield  sweetly  and  content- 
edly. But  the  conscientious  and  self-suspecting 
Christian  watches  his  ow^n  heart,  and  he  sees 
these  enemies,  which  his  own  spirit  has  begotten, 
prowling  for  a  stolen  entrance,  and  he  fears,  and 
weeps,  and  prays  sometimes  with  agony.  And 
if  his  anxious  conscience  ever  detects  one  of 
these  foul,  secret  things  crouching  down  in  the 
corners  of  his  heart,  he  will  struggle  with  it,  and 
fight  against  it  with  every  weapon  he  can  lay  his 
hand  upon,  and  his  conscience  will  not  be  still, 
nor  allow  him  to  be  so,  until  he  has  torn  it  from 
his  heart,  and  barred  the  door  against  its  return. 
17 


194  THE   DIFnCULTIES  OF   SALVATION. 

In  the  thonirlit  of  such  thing's  do  we  not  mus- 
ingl}^  say,  ''If  the  righteous  scarcel}"  be  saved" — 
saved  with  scarcit}^  Avith  nothing  to  spare? 

And  now  let  me  detain  you  a  httle  longer,  to 
mention  another  great  difficulty  in  the  way  of  the 
salvation  even  of  the  righteous — I  mean  the  diffi- 
culty of  resisting  Satan's  power. 

This  is  a  difficulty  that  in  one  sense  is  outward, 
and  in  another  sense  inward.  His  power  comes 
from  abroad,  but  it  operates  within  spiritualh\ 
It  is  a  startling  thought,  even  at  first  sight,  that 
there  is  such  a  being  as  he,  mighty  in  his  intelli- 
gence and  in  his  permitted  power,  and  so  very 
malignant  in  his  designs.  An  archangel  ruined 
is  no  despicable  foe,  if  he  turn  his  deliberate 
strength  against  us.  Salvation  is  no  tilting  of  a 
gala  day,  if  it  is  to  be  won  by  conquering  him. 
An  unseen  enemy  never  sleeping,  watching  our 
weak  points,  knowing  our  besetting  sins,  and 
skilled  to  use  everything  without  and  within  us 
to  hurt  our  souls,  and  with  a  maUce  whetted  to  the 
keenest  purpose  of  destruction,  is  too  much  of  a 
foe  to  be  despised  or  parleyed  with.  He  seizes 
the  world,  and  dresses  it  in  ten  thousand  bright 
and  meretricious  beauties  to  captivate  us.  He 
\siys  hold  of  our  propensities  and  lusts,  and  makes 
them  pierce  our  own  souls.  He  foments  our 
envy,  and  ill-will,  and  uncharitableness.    He  even 


THE   DIFFICULTIES    OF    SAXVATION.  195 

perverts  our  religious  feelings,  and  makes  our 
fliith,  and  hope,  and  devotion,  the  oc-casions  of 
our  sm,  so  that  our  holy  things  have  need  of 
God's  mercy.  He  aggravates  every  natural 
temptation,  and  makes  temptations  of  those  which 
are  not  naturally  such.  He  dresses  up  our 
character  vdth  inconsistencies,  and  makes  cari- 
cature Christians  who  think  themselves  true. 

And  then  he  makes  glee  and  mockery  of  our 
faults,  and  glories  against  God  whenever  he  can 
persuade  a  Christian  to  be  satisfied  with  himself, 
and  to  think  himself  very  pious.  It  is  he  who  is 
the  destroyer,  and  many  a  follower  of  Jesus  has 
been  his  victim.  It  is  against  him  that  the 
Christian  warfare  is  to  be  waged  with  patience, 
fortitude,  and  constant  watching. 

But  one  thing  is  plain,  the  opposition  of  this 
great  foe  seems  to  reduce  the  chances  of  salvation 
to  so  few,  that  we  can  see  what  the  Scriptures 
mean  when  they  say,  "If  the  righteous  scarcely 
be  saved." 

My  brethren,  in  reviewing  these  difficulties  of 
the  Christian  life,  how  much  there  is  to  discourage 
a  timid  person  from  pursuing  it!  Let  me  say 
then  again,  that,  formidable  as  they  are,  they  are 
not  invincible.  They  have  been  conquered  by  a 
multitude  which  no  man  can  number,  who,  with 
crowns,  and  palms,  and  white  robes,  are  rejoicing 


196  THE   DIFFICULTIES   OF    SALVATION. 

in  the  glory  of  the  Lamb  whom  they  so  faithfully 
followed.  Through  Christ  strengthening  them, 
they  came  olf  conquerors  and  more  than  conquer- 
ors. Weak  in  themselves,  they  were  mighty 
through  God.  They  used  the  world  as  not 
abusing  it.  They  subdued  the  flesh  with  all  its 
profane  and  malignant  desires;  and  they  fought 
with  the  great  enemy  Apollj^on,  and  by  faith  in 
Jesus  they  even  made  him  flee.  And  though, 
with  many  a  misgiving  and  many  a  wound,  they 
were  saved — scarcely  saved  indeed,  with  no  super- 
fluous strength,  not  a  single  endeavour  too  much, 
but  saved  nevertheless — saved  from  the  death  of 
the  soul,  saved  without  a  wound  unhealed,  in  the 
bosom  of  God  forever  and  ever. 

And  from  that  place  of  safety  they  look  down 
upon  their  pilgrimage.  They  can  trace  it  as  it 
ran  along  the  brink  of  the  dreadful  downfall,  up 
every  steep  rock,  and  down  into  every  deep  glen 
and  mire.  They  remember  the  fierce  fights  with 
Satan,  and  recognise  each  place  of  conflict  by  the 
blood  stains  from  their  wounded  souls.  They 
can  count  their  stopping  places  for  prayer,  for  the 
grass  grows  green  on  the  spots  which  Avere 
watered  by  their  tears.  And  they  can  tell  every 
point  where  their  feet  had  well  nigh  slipped,  nnd 
the  dark  recesses  where  they  stumbled  and  fell. 
As  they  survey  all  this,  and  now,  for  the  first 


THE   DIFFICULTIES   OF    SALVATION.  197 

time,  learn  how  near  they  came  to  death,  they 
feel  that  they  were  saved  with  difficulty.  But 
they  are  saved  after  all,  and  they  turn  with  a 
shuddering  delight  to  embrace  their  living  Saviour, 
from  whom  they  shall  be  separated  no  more. 

Such  honour  have  all  his  saints,  and  so  shall 
we  have  if  we  are  faithful,  and  loving,  and 
sincere. 

17* 


SERMON    XI. 


DOUBTING    FAITH. 


Matthew  xiv.  31. 

"  0  THOU  OF  LITTLE  FAITH,  WHEREFOKE  DIDST  THOU  DOUBT  V 

I  USE  these  words  for  our  text,  because  they 
are  the  closing  part  of  a  story,  full  of  beautiful 
instruction,  on  which  I  design  to  offer  a  practical 
commentary. 

The  Lord  Jesus  had  sent  his  disciples  in  a  ship, 
to  cross  the  sea  of  Tiberias,  while  he  remained 
to  dismiss  the  multitude.  Then,  retiring  to  a 
mountain,  he  lingered  until  the  evening  in  soli- 
tary prayer.  IIow  sweet  must  that  devotion 
have  been,  which  the  beloved  Son  poured  into 
the  Father's  ear!  IIow  exalted  the  communion 
of  spirit,  when  the  Saviour  withdrew  from  the 
world,  his  soul  unspotted  by  its  pollution,  and 
unsophisticated  by  its  deceits,  and  drawing  near 
to  the  fountain  of  tenderness,  laid  his  head  upon 
his  Father's  bosom !  What  intimacy  of  Divine 
affection  did  that  lonely  mountain  witness !    The 

(108) 


DOUBTING   FAITH.  199 

air  of  that  solitude  was  filled  with  the  gushings 
of  such  prayer  as  no  heart  but  that  of  Jesus 
ever  offered.  The  Bethel  where  Jacob  wrestled 
with  God  in  the  strife  of  prayer,  was  not  so  me- 
morable to  holy  hearts  as  that  mountain  spot. 

And  then,  what  a  burden  of  interests  was 
borne  on  the  wings  of  his  strong  desires !  When 
he  went  to  pray  to  God,  he  carried  on  his  heart 
the  destinies  of  the  world  he  came  to  redeem. 
He  began,  on  earth,  the  intercession  which  he 
now  liveth  to  make,  day  and  night,  in  heaven. 
He  prayed  for  his  disciples,  for  us;  that,  when 
Satan  desired  to  sift  us  as  wheat,  our  faith  might 
not  fail.  And,  besides  this,  he  prayed  for  him- 
self, that  his  humanity  might  not  shrink  from 
the  bloody  trial  of  atonement.  When  Ave  see 
the  Lord  of  our  souls  so  fervently  anxious  for 
their  salvation,  let  us  not  be  careless  of  their 
welfare :  and  when  we  remember  that  even  the 
immaculate  Jesus  loved  the  place  of  solitary 
meditation  and  prayer,  let  us,  whose  need  is  so 
much  greater  than  his,  be  often  alone  with  God ; 
echoing,  with  our  souls,  the  spirit  of  Christ. 

And  let  us  bear  in  comfortable  thought,  that 
when  his  disciples  are  far  away  on  the  billows, 
tossed  on  the  troubles  of  the  times,  the  watchful 
Redeemer  is  praying  for  them  still,  and  consult- 
ing with  God  for  their  safety. 


200  DOUBTING   FAITH. 

For  the  narrative  tells  us  that  the  ship  in 
which  the  disciples  were,  "was  now  in  the  midst 
of  the  sea,  tossed  by  the  waves,  for  the  wind  was 
contrary."  The  evening  had  come,  and  their  be- 
loved Master  came  not.  Night  had  Mien  all 
around  them,  and  they  were  buffeting  the  winds 
and  w\aves  in  absolute  cheerlessness.  The  sea 
w^as  not  large,  but  large  enough  to  drown  their 
little  bark,  as  if  it  were  an  ocean.  Desponding 
thoughts  may  have  come  across  their  minds,  for 
they  grievously  missed  their  Master.  They 
knew  that  he  could  still  the  winds  and  the  waves, 
and  if  he  were  only  asleep  in  their  little  cabin, 
they  could  awake  him,  and  say,  "Lord,  carest 
thou  not  that  we  perish  ?"  and  then  they  would 
be  content. 

And  why  should  he  send  them  out  on  such  a 
comfortless  and  dangerous  expedition,  and  he 
stay  behind?  If  he  could  only  be  the  sharer  of 
their  trials,  to  speak  a  word  of  sympathy  and 
cheer  them  by  his  presence,  their  condition  would 
be  more  tolerable — but  to  be  left  alone  upon  the 
w^aters,  in  this  dead  night  of  the  tempest,  was  a 
disheartening  thing.  We  may  see  in  this  the  pic- 
ture of  much  of  our  Christian  experience.  It 
may  be  all  daylight,  and  a  quiet  sea,  when  we 
unmoor  our  souls  for  the  vo3^age  of  religion.  It 
was  the  word  of  Jesus  which  constrained  us  to 


DOUBTING    FAITH.  201 

go;  and  while  the  heavens  were  fair,  we  sailed 
on  hopefully,  and  were  cheered  by  the  remem- 
brance of  the  Saviour,  as  we  parted  from  him  on 
the  shore.  But,  bye  and  bye,  there  comes  a 
twilight  to  our  hope,  and  we  miss  the  Lord.  We 
see  divine  things  dimly;  the  shadows  of  night 
settle  more  thickly  about  us.  Persecution  or  re- 
proach buffets  us  like  a  contrary  wind,  and  we 
find  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  afflictions,  like  an 
angry  sea,  till  we  cry  out,  "All  thy  waves  and 
thy  billows  are  gone  over  me."  We  know  not 
that  Jesus  is  praying  for  us ;  we  seem  to  be  all 
alone  in  life ;  and  we  wonder  how  religion  can  be 
called  a  way  of  pleasantness,  and  her  path  a  path 
of  peace.  We  remember  the  pleasant  days  of 
our  early  religious  experience,  and  we  long  for 
the  blessedness  we  knew,  and  the  soul-refreshing 
views  of  Jesus.  And  so  we  sail  in  these  dark 
waters,  as  the  disciples  did  through  the  first,  and 
the  second,  and  the  third  watches  of  the  night; 
till  our  troubles  grow  even  darker  than  the  mid- 
night, and  a  sullen  gloom  hems  us  around  in 
despair. 

Now  God  is  not  ignorant  of  these  prospective 
trials.  He  designs  them  indeed  for  our  higher 
sanctification.  In  very  few  instances,  if  in  any, 
does  the  heart  of  a  Christian  learn  the  whole  les- 
son of  faith  at  once.     The  first  impressions  of 


202  DOUBTING   FAITH. 

our  religious  state  are  so  very  joyous,  and  shed 
over  the  heart  such  a  sweet  peace,  that  Avhile  we 
heartily  ascribe  all  the  glory  to  Divine  grace,  we 
are  prone  still  to  think  more  of  the  peace  than  of 
the  grace.  We  are  engrossed  by  a  conscious- 
ness, such  as  w^e  never  had  before,  that  we  are 
changed  and  regenerated  creatures.  When  we 
come  to  Christ,  w^e  have  a  repose  of  mind,  so 
different  from  the  anxiety  and  fear  that  have 
agitated  us  before,  that  it  is  like  rest  to  a  w^eary 
labourer — and  w^e  fall  quickly  asleep,  thinking 
that  we  are  leaning  securely  on  the  bosom  of 
Jesus.  In  this  state  of  spiritual  torpor,  we  are 
liable  to  forget  that  ours  is  a  holy  calling,  and 
we  fall  insensibly  into  a  state  of  carnal  and 
worldly-minded  security. 

To  bring  us  out  of  this  state  of  insensibility, 
God  arouses  us  by  some  providential  dispensa- 
tion, wdiich  troubles  and  afflicts  our  souls.  Sick- 
ness, or  bereavement,  or  the  loss  of  property,  or 
the  falseness  of  trusted  friends,  drives  us  to  seek 
consolation  from  something  higher  than  the  world. 
But  when  we  look  around  for  Christ,  we  remem- 
ber that  we  parted  with  him  on  the  shore.  We 
trusted  so  much  more  to  the  pleasant  change, 
than  to  the  Saviour  wlio  ]»ro(lu('e(l  it;  to  our  in- 
ward feelings,  than  to  an  absent  Christ;  that  we 
have  grown  estranged  from  him,  and  now  w^e  are 


DOUBTING    FAITH.  *203 

ready  to  despair.  Our  sorrow  overwlielms  ns 
like  a  sea-wave.  We  reel  to  and  fro^  and  stagger 
beneath  the  storm  of  trouble;  and  so  we  pass 
through  the  several  stages  of  trial,  each  growing 
darker  than  the  last,  like  the  night  watches,  till 
we  are  past  the  very  midnight  of  our  dark  grief, 
and  lie  helplessly  down,  convinced  that  we  can 
do  nothing,  and  fearing  that  we  shall  sink  and 
lose  our  salvation  at  last. 

"But  this  is  our  infirmity,"  as  the  Psalmist 
says,  and  we  should  "  remember  the  years  of  the 
right  hand  of  the  Most  High."  Man's  extremity 
is  God's  opportunity;  and  "whom  the  Lord  lov- 
eth,  he  chasteneth."  The  trials  which  he  sends 
are  designed  to  teach  us  the  lesson  of  faith, 
which  Ave  learned  so  imperfectly  at  first.  We 
always  estimate  the  preciousness  of  the  Saviour, 
by  our  own  need  of  him ;  and  we  never  can  know 
the  delight  there  is  in  his  love,  till  we  have  been 
brought  to  feel  the  entire  worthlessness  of  the 
world,  and  are  driven  to  make  him  our  all  in  all. 

This  is  the  sweetness  of  adversity — and  the 
sequel  of  the  story  shows  that  Christ  is  nearest, 
when  he  is  most  needed.  As  it  is  always  dark- 
est before  day,  so  Jesus  waited  until  the  fourth 
watch  of  the  night,  and  then  he  appeared  walk- 
ing on  the  sea. 

Whether  it  was  by  attenuating  his  own  body 


204  DOUBTING   FAITH. 

to  the  consistency  of  a  spirit,  and  suspending 
the  power  of  gravitation,  or  by  condensing  the 
liquid  pavement  into  a  solid  foothold,  that  this 
miracle  was  done,  w'e  are  not  informed.  But  we 
know  whose  prerogative  it  is  alone  to  "tread 
upon  the  weaves  of  the  sea;"  and  "whose  path  is 
in  the  mighty  w^aters;"  and  this  act  is  an  attesta- 
tion that  Jesus  is  the  sovereign  of  the  elements, 
and  that  "all  things  were  made  for  him,  and  by 
him  all  things  consist."  "  Thy  way,  oh  God,  is 
in  the  sea." 

We  see,  moreover,  that  not  only  docs  the  Sav- 
iour wait  till  we  are  convinced  we  have  no  other 
helper,  but  when  he  approaches,  he  may  come  in 
an  unexpected  way.  When,  in  their  extremity, 
the  disciples  longed  for  him  more  eagerly  than 
they  who  watch  for  the  morning,  they  doubtless 
thought  that  they  should  not  see  him  again  till 
they  had  reached  the  shore.  But  Christ  comes 
in  his  own  w\ay,  and  that,  sometimes,  so  strange 
a  way,  that  his  very  presence  disturbs  and  terri- 
fies us.  We  do  not  recognize  him,  in  the  ghostly 
form  that  Ave  see  moving  on  the  surface  of  our 
troubles,  and  our  minds  being  possessed  with  the 
persuasion  that  we  are  deserted,  this  new  appear- 
ance seems  only  like  an  added  trouble  to  our 
peace.  For,  "when  the  disciples  saw  him  walk- 
ing on  the  sea,  they  said,  It  is  a  spirit,  and  cried 


DOUBTING    FAITH.  205 

out  for  fear."  How  many  a  trembling  soul  has 
been  affrighted  at  the  presence  of  the  Saviour; 
treatmg  him  as  a  messenger  of  evil  tidings,  and 
wishing  him  away !  How  many  a  person,  in  the 
deep  night  of  his  convictions,  knew  not  that  the 
l^resence  which  tortured  his  soul  was  Christ's 
own  spiiit  of  salvation  ! 

But  mark  his  method  of  assurance.  Straight- 
way, Jesus  spake  unto  them,  saying,  "Be  of 
good  cheer,  it  is  I,  be  not  afraid."  Winning 
words — words  of  friendship;  spoken,  too,  in  the 
confidence  of  reciprocal  friendship.  He  does  not 
announce  himself  as  to  a  stranger.  He  does  not 
say,  as  he  said  to  his  persecutor  Saul,  "I  am 
Jesus !"  He  speaks  to  the  ear  and  heart  of  love, 
which  had  treasured  in  remembrance  every  tone 
of  his  accustomed  voice.  Just  so  did  he  reveal 
himself  to  Mary,  weeping  in  her  distraction  at 
her  Master's  tomb;  and  when  Jesus  said  unto 
her,  "Mary,"  she  knew  by  the  thrill  of  sympathy 
which  a  loved  voice  awakens,  that  her  lost  Master 
was  before  her,  and  she  cried  out,  "Babboni" — 
my  Lord.  The  Saviour  had  described  it  as  a 
characteristic  of  his  sheep,  that  they  hear  his 
voice  and  they  know  him.  And  when  he  said, 
"  It  is  I,"  he  trusted  to  the  quick  sense  of  friend- 
ship to  recognize  the  speaker,  and  bid  him  all 
hail. 

18 


206  DOUBTING   FAITH. 

"It  is  I" — what  hidden  force  the  words  con- 
vey !  It  was  not  necessary  to  say  to  them  tvJtat 
he  was.  No  titles  of  grandeur  or  Divinity  could 
have  meant  so  much  to  them.  He  tvas  the  King 
of  kings  and  Lord  of  lords.  He  tvas  the  incarnate 
Deity,  to  whom  all  power  belonged  in  heaven  and 
earth.  He  was  the  glorious  antitype  of  all  in- 
spired types.  He  was  the  great  High  Priest  of 
an  atonement  for  aU  mankind.  But  all  these 
titles  of  magnificence,  uttered  by  an  archangel's 
trumpet,  would  not  have  signified  so  much  to  the 
hearts  of  these  disciples  as  the  simple  words  he 
used — "It  is  I."  AU  those  titles  might  be  his, 
and  bring  him  no  nearer  to  them.  He  might  be 
glorious  in  his  holiness,  fearful  in  his  praises, 
doing  mighty  wonders  in  heaven  above  and  earth 
beneath ;  but  their  hearts  would  have  said,  "  Tell 
us  not  what  he  is,  but  what  he  is  to  us."  "It 
is  I."  That  simple  assurance  covered  everything. 
Their  master  it  was  who  spoke ;  their  companion, 
their  friend.  All-sufficient  he  was,  they  knew; 
but  they  rested  most  upon  the  fact  that  he  was 
theirs.     If  it  be  thou,  we  are  safe. 

So  true  is  tlie  attraction  of  the  Christian's  love 
for  Christ.  Only  let  it  be  truly  begotten  in  his 
heart ;  let  him  once  learn  the  feeling  of  nearness 
to  the  Saviour — the  union  of  sympathy  and  the 
identity  of  life;  let  him  be  once  in  the  habit  of 


DOUBTING   FAITH.  207 

intimate  communion  with  the  mercy-seat,  where 
his  soul  feasts  with  Christ  at  his  table  of  fat 
things ;  then  let  the  storm  come,  and  amidst  its 
wildest  beatings,  when  the  Saviour  speaks,  he 
will  recognize  the  still  small  voice,  above  the 
loudest  wail  of  the  winds,  and  will  respond.  Like 
the  symbolic  personage  in  the  Canticles,  his  heart 
cries,  "It  is  the  voice  of  my  beloved." 

Oh,  it  is  beautiful,  the  law  of  this  spiritual 
magnetism !  I  wish  for  no  purer  test  of  truthful 
piety  than  this  quick  vibration  of  feeling  to  the 
sound  of  the  Saviour's  voice.  It  is  a  celestial 
sense;  a  new-born  faculty,  making  us  one  with 
Christ — hiding  our  lives  in  him.  In  trial,  temp- 
tation, sorrow — it  will  always  be  enough  to 
sound,  amidst  the  din,  one  tone  of  Jesus'  voice, 
and  the  faithful  heart  will  know  it  and  pause 
for  more. 

"And  Peter  said.  Lord,  if  it  be  thou,  bid  me 
to  come  to  thee  upon  the  water,  and  he  said, 
Come." 

Of  all  the  disciples,  Peter  was  the  first  to  speak. 
We  all  remember  the  character  of  this  eminent 
apostle.  Prompt,  eager,  affectionate,  full  of  zeal; 
we  can  distinguish  him  among  the  whole  band. 
Strongly  impulsive,  he  was  just  as  rash  in  the 
expression  of  his  love,  and  the  avowal  of  his 
faith,  as  he  was  quick  in  the  cowardly  retreat. 


208  DOUBTING  FAITH. 

Whichsoever  f'eelmg  of  his  nature  chanced  to  bo 
uppermost  at  the  time,  it  drew  his  whole  nature 
after  it,  in  one  explosive  act.  If  it  was  forward 
in  faith,  when  the  object  of  his  faith  was  before 
his  eyes,  it  was  hasty  in  denial,  when  he  was 
looking  away  from  Christ.  Yet  he  was  a  sincere 
man :  i.  e.  his  feelings  were  true,  though  change- 
able, lie  differed  from  a  more  common  believer, 
not  only  in  being  less  steadfast;  but,  I  think,  in 
being  more  honest.  Where  an  ordinary  disciple 
Avould  have  easily  suppressed  his  feelings,  be- 
cause they  were  weak,  Simon  Peter  would  act 
them  out,  because  they  were  strong.  Where 
another  would  have  avoided  the  blame  of  incon- 
sistency, because  no  one  knew  his  change  of  feel- 
ing, Peter  would  be  reproached,  because  his 
nature  w\as  so  transparent,  that  it  could  be  read 
by  all.  Whatever  he  thought  and  felt,  he  thought 
and  felt  aloud.  Ilis  faith,  therefore,  was  not 
weak,  but  intermittent.  His  heart  v;as  not  di- 
vided; but,  for  a  moment,  turned  aside.  He  had 
but  one  supreme  object  of  love;  but  he  some- 
times forgot  that  one — yet  without  loving  an- 
other. When  the  object  of  his  faith  was  before 
his  eyes,  no  faith  could  possibly  be  more  earnest. 
But  if  his  mind  turned  away  for  an  instant,  it 
was  an  opportunity  his  enemy  did  not  fail  to  use, 
to  distract  him  into  an  inconsistency. 


DOUBTING   FAITH.  209 

The  whole  recorded  life  of  this  apostle  exem- 
plifies this  description;  and  the  epitome  of  that 
same  life  is  seen,  with  all  its  distinct  features,  in 
the  transaction  we  are  contemplating.  ''Peter 
said,  Lord,  if  it  be  thou,  bid  me  come  unto  thee 
upon  the  water,  and  he  said,  Come.  And  when 
Peter  was  come  down  out  of  the  ship,  he  walked 
on  the  water  to  go  to  Jesus.  But  when  he  saw 
the  wind  boisterous,  he  was  afraid;  and,  begin- 
ning to  sink,  he  cried,  Lord,  save  me." 

Who  would  not  know,  without  the  name,  that 
this  could  be  none  other  than  the  fervent,  but 
changeable  Simon?  With  a  faith  that  seems  to 
have  been  looking  out,  even  on  the  black  waves, 
for  his  Master;  and  with  a  love  that  was  shar- 
pened by  separation,  to  the  keenness  of  a  long- 
ing— his  emotions  outstripped  those  of  the  rest. 
While  they  were  silent,  from  3^et  lingering  terror, 
or  from  prudence,  or  from  a  weaker  love — every 
other  feeling  in  his  heart  was  quelled  by  this 
burst  of  desire,  "Bid  me  come  unto  thee  upon 
the  water."  I  will  not  come  against  thy  will, 
lest  I  offend  thee ;  I  would  not  wait  until  thou 
comest  to  me,  for  that  would  show  my  love 
too  tame  and  quiet;  but  I  am  willing  to  encoun- 
ter a  danger  for  my  love.  I  only  ask  for  thy 
permission. 

True  faith  aspires  to  great  things.  It  goes 
18* 


210  DOUBTING   FAITH. 

out  of  the  ordinary  walk  of  life,  and  dares  even 
to  tread  the  waters.  It  is  not  content  to  be 
bound  by  the  routine  of  common  rules  and  fixed 
modes.  It  reaches  beyond  and  above  natural 
laAvs,  and  draws,  from  the  sovereignty  of  omnipo- 
tence, its  power  of  working.  It  will  wait  for  the 
mustard  seed  to  grow  to  a  tree,  if  it  must ;  but 
it  aspires  to  remove  mountains.  It  will  sail  in 
a  human  ship  if  it  be  sent ;  but  it  overleaps  the 
bulwarks,  to  walk  on  the  w^ater,  if  it  can.  It 
will  wait  for  Christ  to  come  even  to  the  very 
door  of  the  heart,  if  he  says,  "  Stand  still,  and 
see  the  salvation  of  the  Lord;"  but  its  impulse  is 
to  rush  forth  to  meet  the  coming  Saviour,  and 
seek  him  while  he  is  afar  off. 

True  faith  is  an  enterprising  feeling.  It  sees 
invisible  things.  It  compasses  eternity.  All 
that  it  wants,  and  waits  for,  is  a  Divine  com- 
mand, or  the  Saviour's  promise;  and  it  goes  forth, 
strong  in  the  Lord,  and  in  the  power  of  his 
might,  not  knowing  whither  it  goes :  to  fight  the 
elements,  or  to  battle  with  Satan;  to  tread  the 
weaves,  or  to  convert  the  world.  It  trusts  to  the 
ravens  for  food;  it  fares  sumptuously  on  a  hand- 
ful of  meal  and  a  cruse  of  oil.  It  overcomes 
death,  and  reaches  the  glory  of  the  kingdom  of 
God. 

Such  was  the  character  of  Peter's  fliith;  but 


DOUBTING    FAITH.  211 

it  wavered  when  he  turned  his  eyes  away  from 
Christ,  and  saw  the  waves  lashed  b}^  the  boister- 
ous wind;  and  he  was  afraid,  and  began  to  sink. 
Mournful  commentary  upon  human  infirmity ! 

How  many  of  us  have  acted   this  weakness 
over  again, — Love,  distrust;   faith,  fear;   hope, 
discouragement,  possessing  our  bosoms,  each  in 
its  turn  pursuing  and  defeating  the  last !     Now, 
we  call  on  Christ,  out  of  a  full  heart;  then,  we 
question  if  he  returns  our  love.     Now,  we  ven- 
ture nobly  to  do  his  work ;  then,  we  see  the  lion 
in  the  path  and  halt.     Now,  we  anticipate  suc- 
cess, and  nothing  seems  too  large ;  presently,  we 
give  up  all  to  ominous  conjecture,  and  the  grass- 
hopper is  a  burden.     We  pray;  and  then  we  are 
prayeiiess.     We  labour  in  the  field  of  usefulness 
in  Christ's  cause;  and  then,  we  throw  down  our 
Bibles,  and  tracts,  and  Sunday  school  books,  be- 
fore the  working  day  is  half  done.     We  bestow 
our  goods  liberally  to  the  cause  of  Christian  be- 
neficence;  and  then,  when  the  galvanic  spasm 
has  passed  away,  our  hands  clutch  the  dear  gold 
as  rigidly  as  ever.     We  sometimes  join,  heart 
with  heart,  at  the  mercy  seat,  where  they  are 
melted   together,  in   the    fervid    outpouring   of 
desire,  that  God  would  bless  his  gospel,  here  and 
every  where ;    and  then,  the  hectic  flush  of  de- 
votion subsides,  and  we  sink  into  a  collapse, 


212  DOUBTING    FAITH. 

which  leads  on  to  a  more  deadly  chill.  Oh! 
the  faltering  Peter  was  not  alone  in  his  faltering. 
Would  to  God  we  emulated  his  goodness  as 
closely  as  we  imitate  his  faults ! 

But,  brethren,  whether  his  or  ours,  those  faults 
arise  from  the  same  cause.  We  walk  by  sight 
rather  than  by  faith.  We  look  away  from  Christ, 
to  the  whelming  winds  and  waves.  Then  we 
lose  our  dependence,  our  faith  lets  go,  and  down 
we  sink,  with  only  space  to  cry  out,  before  the 
gurgling  waters  have  strangled  us  in  perdition, 
"Lord,  save  me!"  It  is  the  ejaculation  of  a 
heart  that  is  true  at  the  core,  "Lord,  save  me!" 
The  soul  that  is  at  all  familiar  with  the  Saviour 
will  be  sure  to  remember  him  in  its  extremity. 
The  test  of  affection  is  that  it  is  always  strongest 
at  parting.  That  is  the  one  best  loved  of  all, 
whose  name  lingers  on  the  dying  breath.  And 
so  the  Christian  will  not  fail  to  cry  out  as  he 
sinks,  "Lord — my  Jesus — save  me!"  It  is  a 
wholesome  sign  to  be  surprised  into  a  prayer. 

This  is  enough,  for  it  is  at  least  the  root  of 
faith.  And  immediately  he  stretches  out  his 
hand,  and  catches  him,  and  says,  "0  thou  of 
little  faith,  wherefore  didst  thou  doubt?"  There 
was  a  reproof  accompan3dng  the  salvation,  but 
how  tolerable  is  the  reproof  of  mercy  in  its  very 
act !     This  is  the  fulfilment  of  that  prayer  of  holy 


DOUBTING    FAITH.  213 

writ,  ^'0  Lord,  correct  me,  but  Avith  judg- 
ment, not  in  thy  anger,  lest  thou  bring  me  to 
nothing."  The  soul  can  survive  many  correc- 
tions of  grace,  and  grow  stronger  in  love  and 
faith.  It  will  kiss  the  rod  of  compassion,  and 
nestle  in  the  Saviour's  bosom  the  more  affection, 
ately  as  his  tenderness  reproves  more  often.  It 
is  the  rebuke  of  his  justice  that  kills,  and  drowns 
us  in  perdition.  But  he  did  not  say  to  Simon, 
^'Nay,  thou  hast  doubted  me,  and  now  thou  shalt 
die."  The  mercy  of  the  act  muffled  the  severity 
of  the  chiding,  and  Jesus  and  Peter  were  dearer 
to  each  other  than  ever. 

And  so  shall  it  be  with  all  such.  Oh !  if  you 
have  strength  enough  to  ejaculate  in  your  lan- 
guishing, '^Lord,  save  me!"  you  shall  be  saved. 

You  may  be  in  the  deep  waters  of  affliction, 
fearful  and  ready  to  sink;  but  do  not  despair. 
A  Saviour  treads  above  those  waters — cry  out  to 
him,  and  he  will  answer  with  the  saving  strength 
of  his  right  hand.  When  your  faith  is  weak, 
your  prayer  should  be  more  earnest.  Your 
doubts  have  displeased  him,  but  your  distress 
will  conciliate  him  again.  You  have  wounded 
him  by  your  distrust,  but  his  heart  will  be  healed 
when  he  holds  you  in  his  embrace.  Whatever 
our  sorrows,  spiritual  or  worldl}^,  and  whatever 
the  cause  of  our  doubts,  afflictions,  or  sins,  we 


214  DOUBTING   FAITH. 

must  cease  to  look  at  the  waves,  we  must  think 
only  of  Christ.  Look  up  to  him.  "Out  of  the 
deep  have  I  called  unto  thee,  0  Lord," — "  Lord, 
hear  my  voice,"  and  save  me.  He  will  console 
your  Christian  spirits,  and  uphold  you  with  his 
everlasting  arm.  "  When  thou  goest  through  tlie 
waters,  I  will  be  with  thee,  and  through  the 
floods,  they  shall  not  overflow  thee."  In  the 
bosom  of  Jesus  your  disquieted  heart  shaU  have 
perfect  peace. 

And  let  me  commend  the  precious  truth  to 
those,  if  they  be  here,  who,  in  the  uneasiness  of  a 
convicted  conscience,  are  longing  for  a  Saviour 
whom  they  know  not.  Even  to  you  is  the  offer 
of  this  salvation  sent.  Although  3^our  sins  may 
rise  about  you  like  an  angry  sea,  and  your  fears 
discourage  you  from  praying,  yet  we  exhort 
you  to  turn  a  single  look  of  faith  to  Him  who 
hath  his  way  in  the  whirlwind  and  the  storm  of 
human  wickedness.  Sob  out  one  prayer,  at  least, 
to  the  Saviour  who  looks  down  upon  your  sinking 
soul — '^Lord,  save  me!"  You  shall  not  pray  in 
vain.  He  will  stretch  out  his  hand  to  save  you. 
He  will  draw  you  to  his  side,  and  uphold  3'ou 
with  his  free  Spirit.  Your  sins  shall  not  be  so 
much  as  mentioned  by  him.  He  will  indeed 
rebuke  you,  but  not  in  [inger;  not  for  the  count- 
less transgressions  that  are  past.     All  the  iniqui- 


DOUBTINa   FAITH.  215 

ties  of  your  unregenerate  life,  and  the  constant 
iniquity  of  an  unregenerate  heart,  he  will  pass 
utterly  by.  And  his  only  reproach,  as  he  weeps 
tears  of  love  and  joy  over  your  rescued  spirit, 
will  be  that  you  could  distrust  his  tenderness, 
and  sin  against  his  compassion.  You  will  love 
him  the  more,  as  he  bends  down  to  your  embrace, 
and  says,  "0  thou  of  little  faith,  wherefore 
didst  thou  doubt?" 


SERMON   XII 


THE  CHRISTIAN  AT  HOME. 


Genesis  xviii.  19. 


*'I    KNOW  Hlir,  THAT    HE  WILL   COMMAND    HIS   CniLDREN"  AND    HIS 
HOUSEHOLD    AFTER    HIM,  AND    THEY    SHALL    KEEP    THE  WAY    OF 

THE  Lord.'' 

Our  subject,  this  morning,  is  holiness  in  the 
family,  or  the  Christian  at  home. 

The  scripture  which  I  have  selected  as  a  text, 
is  one  of  many  in  which  our  heavenly  Father 
has  declared  his  peculiar  commendation  of  do- 
mestic piety.  The  patriarch  Abraham,  of  whom 
these  w^ords  were  spoken,  was  honoured  by  spe- 
cial tokens  of  the  Divine  f^ivour,  in  consequence 
of  his  fidelity  to  his  household  duties.  God 
made  him  the  confidant  of  his  purposes,  and  ad- 
mitted him  to  such  friendly  partiality,  as  to  re- 
ceive his  intercessions  for  Sodom,  and  to  promise, 
that  if  the  conditions  proposed  by  Abraham  could 
be  met,  the  doomed  city  should  yet  be  spared 
from  the  vengeance  of  eternal  flames.  When 
(216) 


THE    CHRISTIAN   AT    HOME.  217 

we  recollect  that  this  patriarch  is  distinguished 
by  the  eminent  title  of  ''the  friend  of  God;"  and 
observe^  as  in  our  text,  that  the  proof  of  his 
fidehty  rests  on  his  conscientious  discharge  of 
his  parental  duties,  the  importance  and  value  of 
this  department  of  rehgion  assume  at  once  a 
hi2:h  rank. 

o 

Although  I  have  named,  as  my  subject,  "the 
Christian  at  home,"  yet,  as  the  limits  of  a  dis- 
course oblige  me  to  select  that  view  of  the  sub- 
ject which  is  most  comprehensive,  and  most 
important,  I  pass  by  the  mutual  responsibilities 
of  brothers  and  sisters,  and  the  duties  of  child- 
ren to  their  parents,  to  consider  that  class  of 
obhgations  which  belong  to  the  relation  of  a  pa- 
rent alone.  The  duties  of  brothers  and  sisters 
are  the  duties  of  equals  towards  each  other; 
essentially  the  same  as  those  relative  obligations 
which  bind  together  the  whole  community.  And 
the  duties  of  children  are  comprised  in  the  gene- 
ral propriety  of  submission  to  authority,  an 
obligation  which  embraces  many  other  relations 
besides  the  domestic.  But  the  duties  of  parents 
are  peculiar — confined  within  the  circle  of  the 
household,  and  touching  no  point  that  is  not  found 
in  that  one  line  of  relationship. 

The  parent  stands  to  his  household  in  the  imi- 
tative capacity  of  creator.  He  is  the  fount  and 
19 


218  THE    CHRISTIAN   AT   HOME. 

origin  of  an  authority  the  most  absolute  of  any 
on  earth.  All  other  human  government  was  pre- 
ceded historically,  and  in  the  nature  of  things, 
by  the  domestic  rule.  It  is  the  only  government 
which  has  never  been  claimed  to  have  been  es- 
tablished by  social  compact.  It  stands  on  a  sin- 
gular eminence,  in  lone  peculiarity;  confessedly 
divine.  The  duties,  therefore,  which  grow  out 
of  the  parental  relation,  and  cluster  around  it, 
always  are  found  only  in  the  family.  Aside 
from  his  other  duties,  as  a  member  of  society, 
and  a  member  of  church,  and  more  momentous 
in  its  consequences  than  any  other,  the  parent  is 
bound  by  obligations  which  are  all  his  own.  And 
when  we  w^ould  see  holiness  in  the  family,  or  the 
Christian  at  home ;  if  we  would  see  it  in  its  most 
complete  and  comprehensive  form,  we  must  find 
it  in  the  exercise  of  parental  influence. 

We  may  consider  the  parental  duty  as  com- 
prising these  three,  viz :  1st,  the  dedication  of 
his  children  to  God ;  2d,  their  education,  and  3d, 
the  exercise  of  control  and  disciphne. 

1st.  The  dedication  of  young  children  to  God, 
in  some  way,  is  a  duty  recognized,  I  believe,  by 
all  Christians,  of  whatever  name.  I  am  not  sure 
that  it  is  not  a  suggestion  of  nature,  since  we 
find  something  hke  it,  even  among  the  heathen. 
And  the  organization  of  families  is  so  primitive 


THE   CHRISTIAN   AT   HOME.  219 

and  necessary  an  institution,  as  to  warrant  the 
conviction,  that  it  is  a  special  object  of  the  Divine 
purpose,  and,  consequently,  of  the  Divine  care. 
However  this  may  be,  revealed  religion  has  always 
inculcated  the  duty.  Under  the  elder  dispensa- 
tion, the  rite  of  circumcision  was  the  appointed 
method  by  which  the  young  child  was  dedicated 
to  God,  which  was  superseded,  under  the  Gospel, 
by  the  ordinance  of  baptism.  In  this  commu- 
nity, and  specially  in  this  congregation,  there  is 
no  deficiency  in  the  observance  of  this  rite.  But 
it  would  betray  a  lamentable  defect  of  spiritual 
apprehension,  to  suppose  that  the  parental  duty 
was  satisfied  by  the  mere  outward  rite.  The 
form  of  baptism  is  not  the  simple  transaction 
that  it  seems  to  be.  It  is  the  sign  of  a  deep 
purpose  of  the  heart,  in  which  the  whole  wilHng 
faculties  of  the  Christian  parent  are  concerned. 
In  the  presentation  of  the  child  in  the  temple^ 
there  is  involved  a  cordial,  believing  surrender  of 
him  to  both  the  mercy  and  the  authority  of  the 
sovereign  Trinity :  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 
The  parent  thereby  alienates  his  own  title  to  his 
child ;  and  when  he  receives  him  again  from  the 
font,  he  receives  him  as  a  sacred  loan  from  his 
heavenly  Father,  to  be  educated  for  him,  and 
to  be  recalled  whenever  he  shall  choose. 

I  cannot  conceive  of  any  interpretation  of  in- 


220  THE    CHRISTIAN   AT   HOME. 

fant  baptism,  short  of  this,  which  does  not  nullify 
its  whole  import,  and  turn  religious  ordinances 
to  most  trivial  ceremonies.  As  there  are  in  bap- 
tism, most  evidently,  the  form  and  the  words  of 
dedication,  the  simple  and  only  question  for  the 
Christian  parent  is,  whether  that  form  and  vow 
are  to  be  like  the  oath  of  the  custom-house,  or  a 
covenant  for  the  judgment-day,  and  for  eternity. 
As  the  rite  of  baptism  does  not  create  the  duty 
of  dedication,  but  only  declares  it,  it  is  plain 
that  the  duty  is  not  satisfied  by  a  compliance 
with  the  form  alone.  The  duty  is  the  same 
under  all  circumstances;  and  would  be  the  same, 
if  there  were  no  church,  no  minister,  no  baptism. 
Among  the  shades  of  the  loneliest  forest,  in  the 
centre  of  the  most  solitary  desert,  drifting  on  the 
naked  ocean,  where  there  is  no  one  but  parent, 
child,  and  God ;  there  lives  the  duty — destroyed 
by  no  shipwreck,  altered  by  no  circumstances — 
the  duty  of  dedicating  the  inflmt  to  the  mercy 
and  the  obedience  of  his  God  and  Saviour.  It 
is  then  purely  a  spiritual  act;  demanding  the 
sincerity  of  the  heart,  as  much  as  the  parent's 
own  self-dedication  to  God.  If  the  spirit  and 
import  of  this  act  were  thus  truly  estimated  by 
Christian  parents,  the  baptism  of  infants  would 
not  be  the  mere  outward  ceremony  which  it  too 
often  is.     It  would  be  approached  with  the  sol- 


THE   CHRISTIAN   AT   HOME.  221 

emn  stir  of  feeling,  and  the  preparation  of  prayer. 
It  would  be  entered  upon  with  engagedness  of 
heart,  and  the  awful  sense  of  covenanting  with 
God.  And  when  completed,  it  would  leave  be- 
hind it  that  calm  of  holy  assurance  which  always 
follows  a  true  sacrifice.  And  henceforward,  that 
infant  would  be,  to  the  parent's  eye,  not  a  mere  crea- 
ture for  the  enjoyment  of  this  world  j  not  his  own 
exclusive  property,  but  consecrated  and  pledged 
for  God,  and  to  be  trained  for  him  whose  he  is. 

This  first  exercise  of  parental  authority,  there- 
fore, prepares  the  way  for  the  second,  viz :  the 
religious  education  of  his  children.  As  the  act 
of  dedication  w^as  an  acknowledgment  of  the 
parent's  dependence  on  God,  this  second  duty 
implies  his  responsibility.  In  the  yet  sleeping 
faculties  of  his  babe,  the  Christian  parent  beholds 
a  capacity,  which  is  to  be  developed,  not  only  to 
the  limits  of  time  and  sense,  but  to  everlasting 
duration.  He  recognizes  powers  which  shall 
grow  to  be  mighty  for  weal  or  w^oe.  He  knows 
there  is  in  that  infant  spirit  a  germ  whose  fruits 
shall  be  undecaying  in  heaven  or  in  hell.  And  this 
alternative  will  be  determined,  very  much,  if  not 
absolutel}^,  by  the  parental  agency  and  influence. 

There  is  a  theory  abroad  that  the  child's  mind 
should  be  undisturbed  by  any  religious  teaching, 
until  he  is  old  enough  to  form  his  own  opinions, 
19* 


222  THE   CHRISTIAN   AT   HOME. 

in  order  that  he  may  approach  the  subject  with 
impartiah ty  and  candour.  If  there  were  no 
native  tendency  to  sin  wclhng  up  in  the  soul — if 
there  were  no  self-love  leading  it  to  repel  un- 
pleasant truths — if  there  were  no  such  thing  as 
habit  hating  all  change — ^if  there  were  no  world 
without,  stimulating  all  the  powders  and  propensi- 
ties— if  the  mind  and  heart  could  be  kept  a  per- 
fect blank  vacancy,  ready  to  receive  the  holy 
teaching  when  it  should  come,  and  if  religious 
truths  were  mere  opinions  instead  of  Divine  facts 
— there  might  be  in  this  theory  a  plausible  show 
of  sense.  But  when  we  remember  the  activities 
of  human  nature,  putting  themselves  forth  into 
spontaneous  exercise,  and  grasping  all  objects  of 
sense  and  thought;  when  we  remember  the  pas- 
sive powers  of  childhood,  taking  impressions  like 
the  softened  wax  from  every  contact;  when  we 
remember  its  faculty  of  absorption,  imbibing  from 
the  social  atmosphere  health  or  sickness;  when 
we  remember,  in  a  word,  that  the  world,  the  flesh 
and  the  devil  are  combined  to  educate  the  soul; 
so  that  all  its  powders  shall  grow  stiff  in  bad  habit, 
and  all  its  capacities  be  fdled  with  falsehood,  and 
closed  up  against  religion  by  the  prejudice  of  an 
unconverted  heart,  and  that  most  obdurate  of  all 
bigotry,  the  bigotry  of  sin ;  when  we  remember 
all  this,  the  theory  of  religious  neutrality  in  edu- 


THE   CHRISTIAN   AT   HOME.  223 

cation  seems  to  have  no  element  of  reason  to 
redeem  its  absurdity.  No  Christian,  with  the 
open  Bible  before  him,  can  for  a  moment  counte- 
nance tlie  falsehood.  It  has  the  sulphurous  taint 
about  it  that  betrays  its  origin  offensively. 

Contrary  to  all  this,  the  Scriptures  enjoin  the 
duty  of  rehgious  education  as  of  paramount  im- 
portance. To  "train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he 
should  go,"  and  to  "bring  them  up  in  the  nurture 
and  admonition  of  the  Lord,"  are  injunctions 
which  a  Christian  cannot  lightly  avoid.  Whom 
shall  ye  teach  knowledge,  and  make  to  understand 
doctrine  ?  Them  who  are  w^eaned  from  the  milk, 
and  drawn  from  the  breast.  And  the  duty  begins 
with  the  very  commencement  of  the  parental 
relation.  In  the  cradle — sooner  than  that — in 
the  fh^st  maternal  embrace,  for  aught  that  can 
be  shown  to  the  contrary,  there  may  be  with  the 
pressure  of  those  loving  arms  an  influence  that 
shaU  impress  the  soul  just  shaped  for  eternity. 
In  the  mingUng  glances  which  shoot  from  those 
eyes  looking  up  and  looking  dovvm  into  each 
other,  why  may  not  the  mother's  gaze,  glistening 
with  the  vivid  fire  of  parental  love,  waken  mag- 
netic impulses  in  the  breast  of  the  child,  as  well 
as  the  lambent  light  of  his  own  laughing  look 
rouse  up  in  the  mother's  bosom  a  stronger  yearn- 
ing of  tenderness  ?     In  the  secrecy  of  that  nurs- 


224  THE   CIIRISTUN   AT   HOIVIE. 

ing  chamber  there  may  thus  be  going  on  an  inter- 
course of  unutterable  power,  to  stir  the  leading  im- 
pulses of  the  whole  future  hfe.  If  such  a  thing  be 
even  possible — and  it  is  more  than  that — it  Avould 
teach  every  Christian  mother  the  sacred  value  of 
her  early  influence,  and  should  be  as  a  warning 
not  to  delegate  to  a  cold-hearted  substitute  the 
paramount  office  which  God  and  nature  have 
devolved  implicitly  upon  herself.  Throughout 
the  whole  period  of  infancy,  the  Christian  mother 
has  the  same  responsibility  and  greater  facilities 
for  training  the  moral  nature  of  her  child.  Be- 
fore the  thinking  powers  are  developed,  the  sensi- 
biUties  have  their  activity,  and  make  up  the  in- 
fant's hfe.  These  may  be  excited  and  swayed 
in  many  ways.  The  sweet  dreams  of  his  mo- 
ther's lap  may  be  associated  in  his  mind  forever 
with  the  music  of  the  saints,  with  which  he  was 
sung  to  sleep.  The  calmness  of  maternal  piety, 
be^u'ing  with  his  fretful  temper,  may  keep  in  the 
back  ground  a  crowd  of  passions  that  might  have 
been  angered  by  a  nurse's  petulance. 

But  passing  out  of  infincy,  behold  him,  when 
mind  and  feeling  grow  together.  And  here  com- 
mences the  joint  sway  of  both  parents,  the  sea- 
son for  imparting  knowledge.  Among  the  ver}^ 
earliest  of  all  should  be  imparted  the  knowledge 
of  God.     It  is  quite  surprising  how  naturally  the 


THE   CHRISTUN   AT   HOME.  225 

young  mind  reaches  out  after  God.  and  lays  hold 
on  the  idea  of  his  providence  and  care.  Indeed, 
it  is  the  most  congenial  thought  that  can  be  pre- 
sented it,  for  it  harmonizes  best  with  all  the  expe- 
rience he  has  had  of  life.  He  already  knows  what 
a  parent  is;  sees  it,  feels  it,  rejoices  in  it  hourly, 
and  it  is  easy  to  amphfy  that  thought  into  the  con- 
ception of  the  great  and  good  Being  who  is  over 
all.  When  religion  is  thus  presented,  with  its 
loveliest  objects  foremost,  and  most  adorable,  the 
progress  is  easy  from  truth  to  truth,  until  the  whole 
structure  of  the  mind  is  shaped  into  conformity 
with  an  evangelical  faith.  And  when,  with  this 
is  blended  the  early  and  constant  habit  of  prayer, 
there  is  an  education  which  works  the  holy 
thoughts  into  the  heart,  and  makes  rehgion  prac- 
tical and  powerful. 

Religious  edacation,  however,  does  not  terminate 
with  childhood,  nor  with  mere  dogmatic  teaching. 
It  is  not  the  catechism,  nor  the  Sunday-school 
lesson,  nor  the  forced  respect  to  the  Sabbath, 
W'hich  is  to  discharge  the  parent  of  his  responsi- 
bility. Holiness  in  the  family  should  be  an 
atmosphere  to  be  breathed  in.  Eeligion  should 
not  be  a  contraband  topic,  to  be  spoken  in  a 
whisper,  as  if  it  were  offensive  to  ears  polite, 
but  as  one  of  the  familiar  themes  which  make 
up  hfe's  business.     Then  the  child  will  grow  into 


226  THE   CHRLSTIAN   AT   HOME. 

the  natural  and  easy  boldness,  of  not  being 
ashamed  of  having  a  soul  to  take  care  of,  and  a 
God  to  honour.  He  will  be  inspired  with  an  un- 
conscious moral  courage,  such  as  becomes  a  man 
in  Christ  Jesus,  and  his  tastes  will  be  moulded 
after  such  a  pattern,  that  vicious  associations, 
and  all  forms  of  worldliness  Avill  fail  to  attract 
him.  Here  is  the  best  antidote  to  the  evils  over 
which  parents  so  often  lament  in  the  excesses  of 
their  children,  in  the  period  of  young  manhood 
and  young  w^omanhood;  excesses  which  are  just 
as  much  the  natural  eflects  of  home  influence, 
either  negative  or  positive,  as  attraction  and  re- 
pulsion are  of  the  opposite  electricities.  If  the 
parent  has  been  himself  easily  negligent  of  reli- 
gion at  home;  if  he  has  let  the  fire  on  the  family 
altar  go  out;  if  he  betrays  a  loving  interest  in  the 
worldliness  of  the  world,  a  spirit  of  w^eak  compro- 
mise to  usages  wdiich  he  pronounces  wrong;  if 
he  has  himself  pandered  to  the  worldliness  of  his 
child — fostered  her  vanity — incited  his  pride; 
if  he  has,  on  system,  allowed  him  to  be  educated 
under  influences  directly  adverse  to  his  religion; 
and  then,  if,  by  his  own  intemperance,  or  rashness 
of  temper,  or  malicious  criticism  of  others,  he 
has  falsified  to  his  children's  eyes  the  holy  pro- 
fession which  he  has  assumed,  the  education  of 
that  family  so  far  fails  to  be  religious,  and  he  is 
not  the  Christian  he  ought  to  be  at  home. 


THE   CHHISTIAN   AT   HOME.  227 

Not  to  dwell  longer  upon  this  branch  of  the  sub- 
ject, let  us  pass  to  the  thkcl  duty  of  the  Christian 
parent — restraint  and  control.  It  was  the  special 
commendation  of  Abraham,  that  he  would  com- 
mand his  children  after  him.  It  was  the  curse  of 
EH,  blasting  his  whole  family,  that  he  restrained 
not  his  sons.  I  speak  now  of  a  Christian  duty, 
more  commonly  neglected  than  any  other  of  our 
day.  Parental  restraint  has  grown  to  be  almost 
an  obsolete  phrase.  Either  from  the  nature  of 
our  political  institutions,  or  the  common  admira- 
tion of  that  independence,  which  is  our  national 
characteristic,  the  spurning  of  authority  is  an 
American  fault,  which  has  invaded  the  family, 
and  spoiled  it  of  its  holiness.  The  reverence  for 
parents  enjoined  in  the  Scriptures,  is  a  quality  too 
rarely  seen  even  in  Christian  households.  And  an 
observant  eye  can  hardly  fail  to  discover  the  sad 
cause  in  that  household  itself.  Parents,  perhaps, 
from  self-love  imperfectly  subdued,  delight  to  see 
themselves  over  again  in  their  children.  They 
love  to  witness  the  independence  of  spirit  of  the 
little  precocious  man.  They  pet  the  pride  of  the 
boy,  and  foster  the  fancies  of  the  girl.  Pertness 
is  sometimes  miscalled  manliness,  and  wilfulness 
is  mistaken  for  wholesome  energy,  until  self- 
esteem  swells  into  monstrous  prominence,  and 
becomes  so  inflamed  and  sensitive,  that  it  can  be 


228  THE   CHRISTIAN   AT   H0:ME. 

approached  only  with  extreme  delicacy.  The 
child's  will  becomes  the  law  of  the  parents ;  to 
which  the  order,  the  custom,  and  sometimes  the 
principles  of  the  household  are  called  to  bend; 
and  the  poet's  words  are  verified,  though  in  a 
very  different  sense  from  that  which  he  intended : 
"  The  child  is  father  of  the  man."  David  dis- 
pleased not  his  son  Adonijah  at  any  time,  say- 
ing. Why  hast  thou  done  so  ? 

It  w^ould  be  easy  to  show  the  mischievous 
consequences  of  such  training,  when  systematized 
and  made  universal,  upon  the  next  and  following 
generations,  stimulating  the  spirit  of  self-will  and 
insubordination,  until  passion  will  devour  all 
piety,  and  the  obdurate  heart  will  find  nothing 
congenial  but  atheism.  But  we,  as  Christians, 
have  to  deal  with  this  subject,  not  as  a  matter  of 
consequences,  but  of  conscience.  It  is  one  of 
the  most  fearfully  momentous  duties  of  the  Chris- 
tian parent  to  control  his  children.  The  duty 
has  indeed  its  limits.  It  is  limited,  in  the  first 
place,  by  the  age  of  the  child ;  and  the  parent  has 
no  right  to  extend  an  absolute  dominion  over 
those  mature  years,  in  which  his  son  or  daughter 
is  competent  to  think  and  act  for  himself.  It  is 
most  consistent  with  the  evident  design  of  the 
Creator,  that  the  3'outh  should  be  thrown  some- 
times on  his  own  resources  of  talent  and  energy, 


THE    CHRISTL\N   AT   HOME.  229 

and  learn  wisdom  even  from  his  folly.  Our 
wofal  experience  is  often  the  most  wholesome- 
The  parent's  authority  is  limited  again  by  the 
conscience  of  his  child;  and  he  has  no  right  to 
interfere  by  any  force  but  that  of  reason  and 
prayer,  with  his  religious  convictions.  For  there 
is  a  better  father  than  the  human,  and  another 
master,  to  whom  the  child  must  stand  or  fall. 

But  although  tlie  parental  responsibility  is  thus 
limited  by  age,  the  parent  has  no  right  to  alien- 
ate it  by  shortening  the  natural  period  of  pupilage, 
and  exalting  the  child's  whims  into  laws  for  him- 
self. If  his  authority  be  limited  by  his  child's 
conscience,  he  has  no  right  to  leave  that  con- 
science, to  act  blindly  and  from  wayward  impulse ; 
so  that  with  a  large  allowance  for  these  excep- 
tions, the  duty  still  holds  over  him  its  large  and 
emphatic  claim  to  "command  his  children  after 
him." 

That  control,  no  doubt,  is  most  wholesome,  as 
well  as  most  dignified,  which  is  exerted  rather 
by  moral  influence  than  by  rules  and  by  power, 
addressing  the  conscience  rather  than  the  fears. 
Such  control  abides,  fresh  and  vigorous,  long 
after  the  child  is  a  man.  It  even  grows  with 
the  parent's  decline,  and  encircles  the  grey  head 
with  a  chaplet  of  authority  ever  green.  There 
are  instances,  no  doubt,  in  which  the  parent's 
20 


230  THE   CHRISTIAN   AT   HOME. 

will  must  be  asserted  in  the  most  peremptory 
and  forcible  way,  and  must  be  reverenced  merely 
because  it  is  his  will,  and  the  more  powerful  will 
of  the  two.  Better  then  to  employ  the  simple 
superiority  of  power  than  by  neglecting  one  soul 
to  imperil  two.  By  w^hatever  method,  it  is  the 
imperative  duty  of  the  Christian  parent  to  esta- 
blish his  authority  as  the  parent.  Failing  of  this, 
he  fails  of  everything  desirable  and  happy.  Suc- 
ceeding in  this,  he  lays  the  foundation  of  a  bles- 
sing which  shall  not  onl}^  canopy  his  own  head, 
but  give  shelter  and  repose  to  the  generations  of 
his  children.  For  listen  to  God's  benediction — 
"  His  children  shall  keep  the  way  of  the  Lord,  to 
do  justice  and  judgment,  that  the  Lord  may  bring 
upon  Abraham  that  which  he  hath  spoken  of 
him."  Yes,  the  blessing  shall  be  upon  that 
parent,  the  blessing  of  a  posterity  of  holy  flimilies, 
whom  he  will  not  be  ashamed  to  meet  in  eternity, 
and  to  say,  "Lord,  behold  I,  and  the  children 
thou  hast  given  me,"  who  will  rejoice  to  meet 
him,  and  will  rise  up  together  to  call  him  blessed. 


SERMON    XIII. 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   CHURCH. 


1  Chronicles  xvi.  29. 


"Give  uxto  the  Lord  the  glory  due  unto  his  name;  brixg 

AN  offering    and    COME    BEFORE    HIM  :    WORSHIP    THE    LoRD    IN 
THE  BEAUTY  OF  HOLINESS." 

AVhen  the  ark  of  the  Lord  was  brought  into 
the  royal  city  from  its  long  seclusion  at  Kirjath 
Jearim  the  occasion  was  one  of  jubilee.  The 
tribes  of  Israel  were  summoned  from  their  farthest 
bounds  to  celebrate  the  event  with  pomp  and  re- 
joicing music.  On  this  occasion  the  king  deli- 
vered to  Asaph,  the  chief  of  the  chosen  Levites, 
a  psalm  of  thanksgiving,  of  which  our  text  is  a 
part.  It  is  probable  that  this  psalm  was  designed 
as  a  part  of  the  stated  worship  of  the  sanctuar}^, 
and  hence  these  words  afford  a  constant  rule  for 
the  method  of  worship.  '^  Give  unto  the  Lord 
the  glory  due  unto  his  name;  bring  an  oiler  in  g 
and  come  before  liim :  worship  the  Lord  in  the 
beauty  of  holiness." 

(231) 


232  THE   CHRISTIAN    IN    CHURCH. 

Here  are  gathered  several  distinct  topics,  viz : 
the  duty  of  public  worship  for  the  honour  of  the 
Most  High,  the  acknowledgment  of  our  depen- 
dence upon  him  by  appropriate  gifts  and  sacrifices, 
and,  lastly,  the  circumstances  and  conditions 
which  constitute  a  beautiful  propriety  in  worship, 
called  in  the  text — the  beauty  of  hoUness. 

The  duty  of  public  w^orship  w^e  need  not  now 
discuss;  the  propriety  of  religious  offerings  we 
have  already,  in  a  former  sermon,  discussed. 
But  as  our  subject  in  order  to-day  is  "Holiness 
in  AVorship,  or  the  Christian  in  the  Church,"  we 
will  select  the  latter  part  of  the  text  as  denoting 
our  theme — "Worship  the  Lord  in  the  beauty  of 
holiness." 

And  this  language  has  a  twofold  interpretation, 
signifying,  first,  a  local  beauty  in  the  holy  place, 
as  if  it  w^ere  said,  "Worship  the  Lord  in  the 
beauty  of  holiness,  in  the  beautiful  place  set  apart 
for  that  purpose;"  and,  secondly,  denoting  the 
beauty  of  propriety  in  the  form  and  expressions 
of  worship. 

First.  A  beauty  is  ascribed  to  the  very  place 
of  our  public  devotions.  I  need  but  remind  you 
of  the  high  distinction  which,  under  the  Mosaic 
dispensation,  was  always  awarded  to  the  temple. 
It  is,  again  and  again,  in  the  Scriptures,  signal- 
ized as  the  grand,  conspicuous  centre  of  God's 


THE    CHRISTIAN   IN   CHURCH.  233 

earthly  glory.  And  taught  thus  by  God  himself, 
the  pious  Jew  turned  his  face  to  Jerusalem  when- 
ever he  turned  his  heart  to  heaven.  It  was  a  joy 
to  enter  its  gates,  a  privilege  to  approach  its 
altars,  and  an  anticipation  of  heaven,  faint  and 
feeble  indeed,  to  be  near  the  enshrined  presence 
of  Jehovah  in  the  Holy  of  Holies.  Consistently 
with  such  legitimate  feelings,  the  temple  itself 
was  constructed  on  a  scale  of  magnificence  which 
surpassed  that  of  all  human  abodes.  The  out- 
ward form  and  beauty  of  the  sacred  structure 
were  designed  to  image  forth  its  spiritual  glory, 
and  to  betoken  the  superior  presence  within. 

That  was  a  dispensation  of  forms  and  semblan- 
ces, and  has  passed  away.  The  time  has  come, 
according  to  the  Saviour's  words,  when  not  only 
at  Jerusalem,  but  everywhere,  men  may  worship 
the  Father,  yet,  with  the  change  of  dispensation, 
human  nature  is  not  changed,  nor  the  relation  of 
things.  There  is  a  natural  feeling,  which  still 
prompts  the  pious  heart  to  distinguish  the  place 
of  public  religious  service,  by  signs  which  denote 
its  holy  separation  and  superiority. 

And  there  is  likewise  a  certain  fitness  of  things 
which  prescribes  that  the  outward  forms  and  ar- 
rangements of  God's  house  should  accord  with, 
and  represent,  the  sentiments  of  devotion.  There 
is,  no  doubt,  a  typical  connection  between  forms 
20* 


234  THE    CHRISTIAN    IN    CHURCH. 

and  feelings.  Signs  suggest  thoughts,  not  only 
from  conventional  usage,  but  from  the  nature  of 
things.  Hence  the  outward  beauty  of  holiness 
in  Divine  worship,  is  to  be  sought  by  reference 
to  this  principle  of  our  nature.  I  apprehend  that 
to  every  mind,  even  the  least  cultivated,  there 
seems  to  be  a  fitness  in  distinguishing  a  church 
from  a  warehouse.  We  do  not  love  to  see  the 
same  structure,  which  is  associated  in  our  minds 
with  the  purest  and  dearest  of  human  hopes  and 
sentiments — distinguished  in  no  respect  from 
the  familiar  places  of  our  least  sacred  thoughts. 
We  crown  the  church's  roof  with  a  spire,  point- 
ing hke  a  finger  to  heaven;  or  we  seclude  it  some- 
what from  the  noise  and  commonness  of  the 
street,  to  signify  its  unworldliness ;  or  if  we  do 
not  so,  there  is  a  sort  of  instinct  which  tells  us 
that  we  ought.  This  same  principle  may  be 
carried  out  to  a  certain  extent,  wdth  most  salu- 
tary effect,  in  the  general  structure  and  arrange- 
ments of  the  church.  The  style  of  architecture 
may  be  one  whose  lines  of  form  are  unconscious- 
1}^  suggestive  of  elevation,  and  whose  dim  vaults 
and  shadows  shall  promote  the  sense  of  being 
sequestered  from  the  garish  scenes  of  common 
life.  Hence,  there  may  be  an  architecture  which  is 
distinctively  ecclesiastical,  distinguishing  a  church 
from  a  civic  hall,  or  a  banquet  room ;  and  if  it  be 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN    CHURCH.  235 

not  carried  so  far  as  to  withdraw  the  mind  from 
this  unconscious  state,  to  dwell  on  the  beauty  of 
the  workmanship,  or  the  genius  of  the  artist, 
human  art  may  be  made  to  subserve  a  high  and 
noble  usefulness. 

The  same  is  true  of  the  arrangements  and  ap- 
pendages of  the  church.  They  should  indicate 
the  peculiar  character  and  uses  of  the  building, 
awakening  devotion  without  feeding  superstition, 
and  bringing  no  thoughts  into  the  mind  which 
are  uncongenial  with  its  characteristic  sobriety. 
Many  of  our  own  churches  have  adopted,  from 
our  mother  church,  certain  arrangements  which 
are  beautifully  appropriate.  In  them,  besides 
the  communion  table  and  the  baptismal  font, 
there  are  tablets  inscribed  with  the  decalogue, 
the  creed,  and  the  Lord's  prayer,  which,  while 
they  arrest  the  eye  with  important  scripture, 
reveal  the  character  of  the  place  as  sacred,  and 
not  worldly;  and  the  character  of  the  church, 
as  a  teaching,  as  well  as  a  ritual  church — Chris- 
tian instead  of  Pagan;  orthodox,  not  heretical. 

But  the  decoration,  as  well  as  the  architecture, 
of  the  church  may  be  carried  too  far.  Not  only 
may  the  principle  of  symbolism  be  pushed  to 
ridiculousness,  but  the  best  art  may  become  ab- 
surdly out  of  place.  The  introduction  of  pictures 
into  churches — a  practice  generally  rebuked  by 


236  THE   CimiSTLVN   IN   CHURCH. 

Protestant  Christians  as  imedifying,  is,  in  an  artis- 
tical  point  of  view,  still  more  unprofitable.  A 
picture  can  be  seen  to  perfect  advantage,  only  in 
one  light,  and  from  one  position.  No  place  can 
be  more  unfavourable  therefore  for  such  an  exhi- 
bition than  the  walls  of  the  church,  exposed  to  a 
multitude  of  cross  lights,  flooding  the  picture 
with  an  unmeaning  glare,  and  no  position  could 
be  worse  for  observation,  than  that  of  a  majority 
of  the  spectators,  confined  by  pews  to  certain 
places;  and  who,  if  they  observe  at  all,  must 
be  offended  by  distorted  shapes,  and  confused 
colouring.  Such  experiments  of  incongruity 
only  degrade  the  true  dignity  of  art,  and  turn 
the  sacred  and  the  solemn  into  unworthy  gro- 
tesque. Paintings  and  upholster}^  may  be  appro- 
priate in  the  parlour,  but  are  not  the  legitimate 
ornaments  of  that  holy  interior,  where  everything 
should  conspire  to  urge  home  upon  the  soul  the 
deep-laid,  irresistible  sentiment,  "This  is  none 
other  than  the  house  of  God :  this  is  the  gate  of 
heaven."  As  a  general  rule,  then,  the  fine  arts 
should  be  subsidized  for  ecclesiastical  purposes, 
only  so  far  as  they  may  tend  to  awaken,  not  the 
enthusiasm  of  poetry  or  of  taste,  but  those  deep 
fundamental  impressions  of  religious  truth,  which 
remind  us  that  we  are  in  the  presence  of  the 
unseen^  but  heart-searching  God. 


THE    CHRISTIAN   IN   CHUECH.  237 

This  principle  is  applicable,  also,  to  another 
department  of  the  fine  arts,  as  connected  ^vilh 
public  worship.   I  mean  the  music  of  the  sanctuary. 

God  has  established  so  intimately  this  law 
of  nature,  that  ^^'out  of  the  abundance  of  the 
heart  the  mouth  speaketh,"  that  it  is  impossi- 
ble that  music  and  devotion  can  be  divorced. 
The  melody  which  the  heart  makes  in  itself, 
strives  and  rushes  to  the  utterance  of  the  lips; 
and  the  sweet  repose  of  the  soul,  in  its 
rapt  communion  with  God,  is  nursed  by  the 
solemn  harmonies  that  come  from  without. 
Think  of  the  transactions  w^hich  are  going  on, 
day  and  night,  around  the  throne  of  God ;  where 
the  sea  of  uplifted  countenances  reflects  the  light 
of  his  countenance,  and  ten  thousand  times  ten 
thousand  tongues  utter  the  volumed  music,  that 
bursts  from  as  many  adoring  hearts.  No  scene 
on  earth  can  so  resemble  this,  as  a  whole  con- 
gregation, lifted  up  on  their  feet,  and  joining  in 
one  chorus  of  musical  worship.  This  is  the  only 
true  conception  of  ecclesiastical  music;  and  when 
this  is  realized  in  practice,  one  most  important 
element  is  gained  of  the  beauty  of  holiness. 

In  order  to  this,  the  melodies  of  the  church 
should  be  simple;  to  bespeak  those  feelings  of 
devotion  which  are  among  the  simplest  of  the 
human  breast.     Its  harmonies  should  be  broad 


238  THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   CHURCH. 

and  grand,  to  embrace  the  whole  soul,  and  hear 
it  strongly  up.  Its  symphonies  should  be  short 
and  easy;  its  voluntaries,  fitted  to  the  character 
of  the  occasion,  and  the  spirit  of  the  sermon. 
There  is  no  occasion  in  which  human  art  should 
so  studiously  conceal  itself,  and  become  the  secret 
ministrant  of  heaven,  as  in  the  music  of  religious 
pathos,  penitence,  and  praise.  When  these  re- 
quisites are  met,  the  music  of  the  church  becomes 
wdiat  it  ought  to  be — congregational — the  music 
of  the  whole — beautiful  to  the  ear,  and  to  the 
soul. 

But  these  requisites  are  too  often  scorned  by 
the  ambition  of  modern  art.  The  taste  that  is 
bred  at  operas  and  concerts,  soon  learns  to  dis- 
credit the  legitimate  character  of  ecclesiastical 
compositions,  and  craves  the  higher  excitements 
of  music ;  its  unusual  harmonies,  its  minute  beau- 
ties, its  exquisite  detail.  It  grows  to  love  the 
art  for  its  own  sake;  and  to  admire  the  perform- 
ance, instead  of  feeling  its  design.  When  this 
occurs,  the  music  becomes  a  mere  exhibition;  it 
is  delegated,  as  a  work,  to  a  few;  and  the  con- 
gregation are  listeners,  instead  of  worshippers. 
Here  are  two  essential  absurdities — substituting 
the  means  for  the  end,  and  making  that  which 
is  beautirul  in  itself  oifensive  by  being  out  of  its 
place.     So  far  as  this  practice  prevails,  it  per- 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   CHURCH.  23! 

verts  this  beautiful  part  of  sacred  worship,  and 
spoils  it  of  all  the  beauty  of  holiness. 

Having  thus  dwelt  on  the  outward  conditions 
and  circumstances  which  aid  the  proprieties  of 
public  devotion,  let  us  consider, 

2dly,  The  connection  of  our  own  personal  con- 
duct with  the  beauty  of  holy  worship. 

When  I  say  it  is  important  how  we  should 
behave  ourselves,  as  the  apostle  says,  in  the  house 
of  God,  you  will  acquit  me,  I  know,  of  any  un- 
due exalting  of  rehgious  forms.  Forms  are  not 
the  spirit  and  the  life-;  but  they  reiwe^ent  both. 
Our  church,  following  the  example  of  almost  all 
Christian  and  Jewish  worship,  has  provided  that 
the  several  parts  of  her  worship  shall  be  con- 
ducted by  stated  forms;  which,  so  far  from  being 
a  hindiance  to  devotion,  are,  I  am  persuaded, 
most  useful  and  effectual  helps ;  and  when  rightly 
observed,  conduce  more  than  any  looser  methods 
to  the  holy  beauty  of  public  worship.  For  their 
full  value  to  be  reahzed,  however,  there  are  cer- 
tain conditions,  which  I  proceed  to  name. 

The  first  of  these  is  a  due  preparation  of 
heart  and  mind.  And  this  begins  at  home.  When 
our  eyes  open  on  the  holy  day,  our  hearts  should 
wake  to  holiness.  The  business  of  the  house 
should  be  disposed  of  as  noiselessly,  and  as  early 
as  possible ;  and  the  business  of  the  week  displaced 


240  THE   CHRISTIAN    IN   CHURCH. 

entirely,  with  its  newspapers  and  letters.  The 
family  prayer  being  done,  and  the  weekly  offerings 
being  made,  as  God  hath  prospered  you,  let  the 
thoughts  settle  into  soberness.  Bring  near  to 
your  minds  the  purposes  of  the  day — what  the 
Sabbath  is,  and  why  it  is.  "With  a  prayer  for 
God's  companionship  and  blessing,  that  the  duties 
of  the  day  may  be  done  as  under  his  eye ;  its 
privileges  enjoyed,  as  from  his  presence;  its  bles- 
sings secured  for  the  coming  week,  and  for  all 
time  and  eternity  too.  With  such  preparation 
of  mind,  in  a  word,  as  you  would  make  for  an 
earthly  court — watching,  wishing,  and  earnest — 
direct  your  feet  to  the  house  of  the  Lord,  and 
come  before  him. 

And  then,  in  the  second  place,  as  impor- 
tant to  the  propriety  of  holy  worship,  let  me 
mention  punctuahty  of  attendance.  The  hour 
assigned  for  the  commencement  of  Divine  ser- 
vice was  probably  selected  as  the  most  generally 
convenient.  It  is  therefore  to  be  i^resumed  that 
all  may  be  present  at  the  very  opening  of  the 
service.  And  although  to  every  one  there  may 
be  sometimes  a  necessary  delay,  yet  this  cannot 
be  alw(ujs  true  of  any  one.  Whenever,  therefore, 
lateness  at  church  is  a  habit,  it  betrays  some 
fjiult  in  the  individual,  or  the  family,  which  may 
be  mended  by  a  change  of  system. 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN  CmJECH.  241 

The  importance  of  punctuality  is  obvious  on 
several  grounds.  1st.  The  earl}^  portions  of  our 
church  service  are,  to  say  the  least,  as  valuable 
as  the  latter,  if  not  even  more  so,  for  they  are 
meant  to  be  a  preparative  for  all  that  follows 
them.  The  opening  sentences  summon  you,  in 
God's  name,  to  meet  him.  The  exhortation  de- 
fines the  necessity  and  order  of  our  duties.  The 
general  confession  fits  the  heart,  as  nothing  else 
can,  for  the  joy  and  praise  that  succeed.  All 
this  is  lost  to  one,  who,  hurrying  in  from  the 
street,  is  obliged  to  seize  the  strain  of  worship 
just  where  he  can.  It  can  hardly  be  expected 
that  his  feelings  can  be  duly  attuned  to  any  part 
of  the  sacred  service,  and  his  soul  must  sufi'er  a 
want.  When  to  this  we  add  the  reflection,  that 
every  late  comer  disturbs  the  devotions  of  others, 
as  well  as  forfeits  his  own  benefit,  I  think  the 
propriety  of  this  suggestion  will  need  no  other 
explanation.  Better  to  be  too  early,  than  at  all 
late.  Better  to  be  waiting  on  God,  than  to  seem 
to  demand  that  he  should  wait  for  us. 

Again,  thirdly,  to  maintain  the  beauty  of  holy 
worship,  we  should  begin  at  the  threshold  of 
the  Church.  When  we  enter  the  sacred  enclo- 
sure of  Jehovah's  recorded  name  and  presence, 
each  one  should  pursue  his  way  to  his  place  with 
a  modest  and  thoughtful  mien,  not  gazing  abroad 
21 


242  THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   CHURCH. 

on  either  side,  nor  occupied  at  all  with  other 
things.  Let  him  first  of  all,  by  a  few  moments 
of  secret  prayer,  establish  a  communication  be- 
tween his  soul  and  God,  and  thus  be  ready  to 
lend  his  part  to  the  full-voiced  worship  of  the 
congregation. 

And,  fourthly,  when  this  is  begun  it  should 
engross  both  the  outward  and  the  inward  facul- 
ties. Our  form  of  worship  has  this  grand  and 
beautiful  peculiarity.  It  is  meant  for  common 
prayer.  Unlike  the  system  in  which  the  minister 
turns  from  the  people,  as  if  they  had  no  interest 
or  participation  in  his  worship ;  and  not  less  unHke 
that  in  which,  by  leaving  all  to  the  minister,  the 
people  may  participate  or  not — our  sj^stem  con- 
templates both  minister  and  people  as  joined  and 
sharing  in  the  duty  and  joy  of  open  devotion. 
Ours,  therefore,  is  responsive  worship,  and  the 
plainest  duty  of  the  congregation  is  to  join  with 
voice  as  well  as  heart  in  swelling  the  tide  of 
devotion  that  should  flow  over  the  whole.  It  is 
sometimes  embarrassing  to  the  minister  who 
pauses  for  the  response,  to  hear  only  a  murmur, 
so  faint  and  feeble  that  he  can  scarcely  be  sure 
that  it  has  ceased  for  him  to  begin  again.  It  is, 
however,  still  more  ungrateful  to  his  eyes,  and 
must  it  not  be  so  to  the  great  Master  of  the  assem- 
bly, to  see,  here  and  there,  the  open  prayer-book  all 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   CHURCH.  243 

unheeded;  the  Christian's  eye  wandering  abroad 
through  the  congregation,  noticing  every  entrance, 
and  scanning  the  dress  or  the  movements  of  others ; 
and  his  lips  closed  against  utterance,  as  if  he  had 
no  heart  to  Avorship,  or  felt  himself  out  of  place, 
amidst  forms  that  he  rejected,  if  not  superciliously 
despised  ?     I  am  aware  of  the  diffidence  that  is 
felt  in  responding  by  individuals  who,  hearing 
only  their  own  voices,  imagine  that  theirs  are  the 
only  voices  heard.      But  while   this  is  not  the 
fiict  to  any  considerable  extent,  it  might  be  alto- 
gether  obviated   if  every  worshipper,    mindful 
only  of  his  own  earnest  part,  would  utter  himself 
to  God  as  if  desiring  that  /w  should  hear.     This 
participation  of  each  one  in  the  common  prayers 
and  praises  of  the  church,  would  beget  an  out- 
spoken freedom,  which  would  add  not  only  to  our 
enjoyment  of  public  worship,  but  to  the  impression 
which  our  services  are  adapted  to  make,  of  admi- 
rable propriety  and  holy  beauty.     So  that  the 
stranger,  instead  of  comparing  us  unflivourably 
with  other  congregations,  for  our  want  of  spirit 
and  earnestness — when  he  witnessed  our  ready 
and    cordial   worship — -joining   us    all  in   every 
exercise — kneeling  in  prayer  rather  than  sitting 
idl}^— standing  in  praise,  as  if  the  body  would 
rise  with  the  soul — and  responding  clearly  with 
the  voice  in  supplication  and  in  song — would  be 


244  THE    CHRISTIAN   IN   CHURCH. 

ready  to  fall  clown  with  us  and  worship  God,  and 
report  that  God  is  in  us  of  a  truth.  For  such 
power  is  there,  the  apostle  being  witness,  in  that 
worship  which  is  in  the  beauty  of  holiness. 

And  now,  in  the  last  place,  the  worship  is 
not  closed  with  the  liturgy.  It  receives  an 
added  and  impressive  beauty  from  the  practice 
of  pausing  upon  your  knees  after  the  benediction, 
each  one  invoking  secretly  for  himself  and  others 
a  blessing  on  the  services  of  God's  house.  How 
ineffably  better  is  this  than  the  hurry  and  the 
rush  which  will  scarcely  wait  for  the  last  words 
of  pastoral  benediction,  as  if  worship  were  a 
tediousness,  and  the  relief  could  not  be  too  soon ! 
When,  then,  we  see  the  congregation  wrapped  for 
a  season  in  the  silence  of  that  secret  prayer,  as  if 
God's  mantle  were  thrown  over  them,  and  then 
passing  soberly  out  to  the  well-suited  music  of 
the  organ,  not  criticising  the  sermon  nor  retailing 
the  news,  but  carrying  in  the  whole  mien  the 
impression  of  having  been  in  the  august  and  loved 
presence  of  the  King  of  kings — then  we  witness 
the  sacred  rule  of  worship  realized  in  the  beauty 
of  holiness.  It  can  scarcely  fail  that  such  wor- 
ship would,  by  a  hundred  pleasant  associations, 
entwine  our  hearts,  and  draw  us  often  to  the 
sanctuary.  In  the  spirit  of  the  Psalmist,  "  How 
amiable  are  thy  tabernacles,  0  Lord  of  hosts! 


THE   CHRISTIAN    IN   CHURCH.  245 

my  soul  hath  a  deske  and  longmg  to  enter  into 
the  courts  of  the  Lord;  my  heart  and  my  flesh 
cry  out  for  the  living  God."  It  would  attach  us 
more  fondly  to  the  idea  of  Christian  fellowshiiD 
and  sympathy,  and  make  us  more  like  one  house- 
hold by  making  each  one  necessary  to  the  others' 
enjoyment  of  the  holy  beauty  of  worship. 

More  might  be  said  of  our  public  services,  but 
the  limits  of  my  discourse  forbid  it. 

I  recommend  the  subject  to  you,  dear  brethren, 
as  worthy  of  your  devout  regard.  There  is  an 
evident  inconsistency  in  having  a  form  of  ser- 
vice which  we  systematically  disregard.  And 
when  that  form  is  adapted  to  the  rich  uses  of  the 
w^orshipping  heart,  there  is  reason  to  fear  that  to 
neglect  the  form,  is  to  leave  the  heart  barren. 

I  believe  that  our  services  embody  all  that  can 
be  required  for  a  rational,  affectionate,  full-toned 
worship.  If,  by  our  practice,  we  would  develope 
its  capabilities,  it  would  meet  that  demand,  which, 
seeking  after  fervour  and  beauty,  is  sometimes 
led  off  after  counterfeit  ceremonials,  and  finds  in 
dramatic  forms  the  sentimental  influence,  which 
is  but  a  lame  substitute  for  the  fervour  of  the 
heart. 

Do  not  imagine  that  your  piety  will  be  more 
spiritual  for  neglecting  its  forms.     So  long  as  we 
have  bodies,  as  well  as  souls;   eyes,  ears,  and 
21* 


246  THE   CHRISTIAN   IN    CHURCH. 

tongues,  as  well  as  faith  and  feeling — so  long 
should  they  be  conjoined  in  the  highest  and 
holiest  agencies  of  our  being.  We  shall  often 
find  that  the  outward  faculties  will  actuate  the 
inward,  as  well  as  the  inward  vivify  the  outward. 
If  God  has  joined  them  together  for  the  perfect- 
ing of  the  beauty  of  holiness,  let  us  not  unscru- 
pulously put  them  asunder. 


SERMON   XIY 


THE  CHRISTIAN  IN  HIS  BUSINESS. 


Matthew  vi.  24. 
*'  Ye  cannot  serve  God  and  Mammon." 

Each  class  of  the  human  propensities  and  pas- 
sions has,  at  some  time  or  other,  exercised  over 
the  lives  of  men  a  supreme  control.  Sometimes 
the  dominion  of  one  passion  is  so  despotic  as  to 
be  exclusive.  It  can  bear  no  rival  near  the 
throne,  and  subdues  all  other  feelings  to  itself. 
At  other  times  the  propensities  will  hold  a  joint 
sway,  and  reinforce  each  other.  They  wiU  erect, 
in  the  breast  of  man,  a  sort  of  oligarchy  of  pas- 
sions, dividing  the  moral  empire  of  his  being. 

The  natural  desires  of  man,  thus  made  sove- 
reign, are  like  so  many  deities,  to  whom  he  pays 
the  homage  of  his  obedience.  In  the  earlier 
times  of  idolatry,  when  it  was  customary  to  per- 
sonify ideas  and  feehngs,  these  governing  pas- 
sions were  pictured  in  bodily  forms,  with  appro- 

(247) 


248  THE   CHRISTIAN    IN    HIS   BUSINESS. 

priate  titles.  These  were  the  idol  gods  of  the 
heathen;  and  to  worship  them  acceptably,  was 
to  indulge  in  excess  those  passions  which  they 
severally  represented.  Without  attempting  even 
a  sketch  of  this  idolatry,  I  may  mention  some  of 
their  principal  deities,  who,  under  changeable 
titles,  have  wielded  the  largest  dominion  over  the 
generations  of  men,  and  may  stand  to  us  as  the 
representatives  of  the  most  common  passions  of 
nature.  Moloch  is  the  deity  of  cruelty,  ambi- 
tion, and  blood.  Ashtaroth,  the  goddess  of  li- 
centious pleasure.  Belial,  the  patron  of  world- 
liness,  as  distinguished  from  a  religious  temper ; 
and  Mammon,  the  god  of  w^ealth,  the  miser's 
tyrant  deity,  and  the  especial  tempter  of  every 
man  of  business^  if  not  of  every  man  and  woman 
besides. 

With  this  preface,  we  are  at  no  loss  to  under- 
stand the  words  of  our  Lord  in  the  text.  The 
occasion,  and  the  circumstances  under  which  they 
were  spoken,  can  be  studied  at  your  leisure. 
Their  import  is  sufficiently  simple,  and  the  terms 
absolute  and  emphatic.  "Ye  cannot  serve  God 
and  Mammon,"  is  plainly  equivalent  to  this, 
viz :  You  cannot  be  a  true  Christian,  and  at  the 
same  time  be  engrossed  in  the  pursuit  of  riches. 
As  our  subject  this  morning  is  "the  Christian  in 
his  business,"  I  have  trusted  that  these  words  of 


THE    CHRISTIAN    IN    HIS   BUSINESS.  249 

our  adorable  Master  might  not  be  without  their 
good  effect. 

In  the  first  place,  I  remark,  that  neither 
our  text,  nor  any  other  passage  of  Scripture, 
forbids  the  possession  or  the  accumulation  of 
wealth,  in  a  right  spirit,  and  by  lawful  means.  I 
recollect  but  two  instances  which  might  seem  to 
contradict  this  statement;  but  which  are  both  en- 
tirely reconcilable  with  it.  The  first  is  the  case 
of  the  young  ruler,  to  whom  our  Saviour  said, 
"  Sell  all  that  thou  hast,  and  give  to  the  poor, 
and  come,  follow  me."  But  this  was  evidently 
meant  to  test  the  sincerity  of  his  feelings,  and  to 
show  him  that  Jesus  Christ  may  sometimes  re- 
quire the  willing  relinquishment  of  the  highest 
worldly  advantages,  when  they  come  into  compe- 
tition with  his  service.  While,  for  every  such 
case,  this  instance  is  still  legitimate,  and  full  of 
meaning,  I  apprehend  it  would  stretch  its  im- 
port too  far  to  convert  it  into  a  universal  rule. 

The  other  instance  is  that  of  the  primitive 
Christians,  who  sold  their  possessions,  and 
"brought  the  money,  and  laid  it  at  the  Apos- 
tles' feet."  But  this  was  a  voluntary  gift;  not 
required  as  a  condition  of  discipleship,  not  even 
commended  by  the  sacred  writer,  nor  ever  after- 
wards practised  in  the  Church.  It  was  a  special 
deed  for  a  special  period,  and  as  such  may  well 


250  THE    CHRISTIAN   IN    HIS   BUSINESS. 

be  repeated  in  the  cruel  emergency  of  want,  to 
which  the  cause  of  Christ  may  be  sometimes  re- 
duced. 

That  very  striking  and  startling  passage,  in 
which  our  Saviour  declares,  "How  hardly  shall 
they  that  have  riches,  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
God !"  and,  "  It  is  easier  for  a  camel  to  go  through 
the  eye  of  a  needle,  than  for  a  rich  man  to  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  God,"  is  sufficiently  explain- 
ed by  his  following  words,  in  reply  to  the  anxious 
demand,  "Who  then  can  be  saved?"  "How 
hard  is  it  for  them  that  trust  in  riches,  to  enter 
into  the  kingdom  of  God!"  and,  "With  men  it  is 
impossible,  but  with  God  all  things  are  possi- 
ble." It  is  a  solemn  caution  against  the  dangers 
of  wealth,  but  not  the  denouncement  of  riches  as 
a  sin.  Had  it  been  so,  he  would  never  have  said 
that  salvation  was  possible,  on  any  terms,  to  a 
rich  man,  since  God  cannot  receive  a  sinner  to 
his  favour  without  the  total  renouncement  of 
that  which  constitutes  his  guilt;  so  that  if  wealth 
were  a  sin,  he  must  become  poor  to  be  saved. 

In  accordance  with  this  view  are  many  pas- 
sages of  Scripture,  which  directly  warrant  the 
possession  of  riches.  They  are  sometimes  de- 
scribed as  a  special  blessing  from  the  Almighty, 
who  "giveth  us  power  to  get  wealth;"  and  the 
habit  of  industry  is  especially  encouraged,  on  the 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN    HIS   BUSINESS.  251 

ground  that  "the  hand  of  the  dihgent  maketh 
rich."  The  consistency  of  Scriptural  interpre- 
tations, therefore,  requires  us  to  suppose  that 
the  possession  of  wealth,  however  dangerous,  is 
not  necessarily  sinful ;  and  that  the  gains  of  hon- 
est industry  and  skill  are  a  lawful  object  of  hu- 
man pursuit. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  how  aptly  this 
conclusion  harmonizes  with  all  just  reflection 
upon  the  nature  of  man,  and  the  providence  of 
God.  The  nature  of  man,  by  the  Divine  law 
which  is  impressed  upon  it,  seeks  a  constant  ad- 
vancement. As  his  intelligence  opens  wider  and 
wider,  and  his  growing  mind  looks  out  beyond 
his  first  narrow  condition,  he  discovers  advan- 
tages which  he  has  not;  attainments  not  yet 
reached;  conveniences  that  would  relieve  his 
toil,  enhance  his  comfort,  and  minister  to  the 
wants  of  those  who  depend  on  him  for  sup- 
port and  security.  The  natural  desire  for  im- 
provement follows  after  this  new  intelhgence, 
and  he  is  impelled,  from  step  to  step  of  progress, 
by  the  very  law  of  his  being.  And,  correspond- 
ing to  this  natural  impulse  and  power,  God  has 
opened  up  to  his  view  a  world  teeming  with  the 
seeds  of  improvement;  his  providence  by  de- 
grees unfolds  the  means  by  which  this  improve- 
ment is  nursed,  discloses  the  laws  of  the  material 


252  THE   CHRISTLYN   IN   HIS   BUSINESS. 

world,  widens  all  the  avenues  of  knowledge,  mul- 
tiplies the  human  race,  strengthens  the  social 
feeling,  increases  each  man's  responsibility,  drives 
him  to  enterprise  and  invention,  rewards  him 
with  overflowing  harvests ;  and  each  new  genera- 
tion stands  on  the  shoulders  of  the  last. 

Now,  one  of  the  inevitable  results  of  this  sys- 
tem of  the  world,  is  an  increase  of  all  those  ad- 
vantages which  constitute  material  wealth.  And 
unless  we  are  prepared  to  assert  that. God  never 
meant  man  to  establish  his  supremacy,  as  an  in- 
telligent being,  over  this  lower  creation;  that 
this  rich  and  bounteous  earth  was  not  meant  to 
be  explored,  subdued,  and  cultivated;  that  the 
whole  tissue  of  faculties,  which  invest  him  with 
a  sort  of  divinity,  was  meant  to  be  a  shroud, 
rather  than  a  robe  of  power;  and  that  the 
universal  pulse  of  life  must  stand  still  un- 
less we  debar  civilization,  we  cannot  exclude 
wealth.  If  the  poor  we  shall  always  have  with 
us,  it  is  a  part  of  the  same  divine  decree,  that 
there  will  always  be  the  rich.  So  that  both  na- 
ture and  revelation,  God  in  the  world  and  God 
in  the  Bible,  confirm  the  conclusion  that  wealth 
is  not,  of  necessity,  a  sin.  The  natural  and  ne- 
cessary, and — I  would  it  might  be — anxious  in- 
quiry with  you,  is.  When  is  the  pursuit  of  wealth 
a  sin?  What  mean  the  solemn  words  of  Jesus 
Christ,  "  Ye  cannot  serve  God  and  Mammon?" 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN    HIS   BUSINESS.  253 

Let  us  proceed,  in  the  second  place,  to  answer 
this  question.  The  dangers  of  wealth,  then,  I 
apprehend  to  consist  in  our  serving  it.  When 
we  make  it  so  important  as  to  control  us,  then 
'sve  become  its  slaves,  and  Mammon  is  our  God. 
We  may  sin  in  the  pursuit  of  wealth  in  two 
ways — first,  when  we  pursue  it  with  a  wrong 
spirit;  or,  secondly,  by  wrong  means. 

We  pursue  it  with  a  wrong  spirit  when  we 
make  it  a  distinct  object  of  our  ambition  to  be 
rich.  God  has  not  forbidden  that  every  man 
should  reserve  a  portion  of  his  gains  for  the  time 
of  possible  sickness,  or  infirmity,  or  old  age. 
He  has  not  forbidden  that  a  parent  should  pro- 
vide means  for  the  comfort  and  education  of  his 
family  when  he  is  dead  and  gone.  On  the  con- 
trary, he  has  distinctly  said,  "He  that  provideth 
not" — i.e.y  does  not  look  out  beforehand — "he 
that  provideth  not  for  his  own,  specially  for  them 
of  his  own  household,  hath  denied  the  faith,  and 
is  worse  than  an  infidel."  But  when  this  dutiful, 
domestic  prudence  becomes  transformed  into  a 
passion  for  accumulation,  the  lawful  instinct  is 
changed  to  a  lust,  with  all  the  debasing  powder  of 
idolatry,  and  then  is  realized  the  full  mischief 
denounced  by  the  apostle  with  such  terrible  dis- 
tinctness and  such  cumulative  force — "  They  that 
will  be  rich;  fall  into  temptation  and  a  snare )  and 


254  THE    CIIRISTLVN    IN   HIS   BUSINESS. 

into  many  foolish  and  hurtful  lusts,  which  drown 
men  in  destruction  and  perdition.  For  the  love 
of  money  is  the  root  of  all  evil,  which  wliile  some 
coveted  after,  they  have  erred  from  the  faith  and 
pierced  themselves  through  with  many  sorrows." 
The  wrong  spirit  wdiich  perverts  wealth  into  sin, 
is  the  avaricious  love  or  the  covetous  desire  of 
money.  Mark  the  expression — how  truly  it 
denotes  the  idolatry  of  the  passion — "The  love 
of  money  is  the  root  of  all  evil." 

And  what  is  money  ?  It  is  nothing  in  itself, 
but  it  represents  other  possessions.  It  is  the 
mere  sign  of  riches.  I  do  not  know  that  any- 
thing can  resemble  more  truly  the  insanity  of 
heathen  idolatry,  which  bows  down  to  a  mere 
image,  than  that  anxious  devotion  to  wealth 
which  gloats  upon  its  gains,  and  takes  a  real 
satisfaction  in  counting  the  gold — which  is,  after 
all,  only  representative  wealth.  What  can  it  be 
but  idolatry? — and  the  idol  itself  is  just  as  truly 
the  work  of  man  as  any  heathen  god.  For  al- 
though nature  has  made  wealth,  man  alone  has 
created  money.  And  w^hile  this  very  invention 
is  one  of  the  proofs  of  that  peculiar  intelligence 
which  distinguishes  him  from  the  brutes — while 
it  is  a  mark  of  somewhat  advanced  civilization, 
that  he  has  learned  to  take  the  abstract  idea  of 
value,  and  embody  it  in  an  arbitrary  form,  which, 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS   BUSINESS.  255 

by  its  representative  power,  facilitates  all  the 
operations  of  commerce,  and  adds  marvellously 
to  the  conveniences  of  social  life — is  it  not 
strange  that  a  mere  representative  figment  should 
be  to  him  as  a  deity,  and  that  the  whole  circle 
of  his  passions  and  affections  should  be  circum- 
scribed within  the  rim  of  a  dollar?  Though 
Mammon  may  have  changed  his  form,  and  lost  his 
title,  he  is  still  a  veritable  idol,  whom  we  have 
baptized  with  the  name  of  monejj. 

These  remarks  may  seem  to  describe  the  char- 
acter of  a  confirmed  miser,  whose  only  life  and 
joy  is  in  hoarding  useless  gold.  Yet,  though 
the  miser  may  be  the  most  exquisite  specimen 
of  this  idolatrous  character,  his  is  only  the  same 
passion  which  may  reign  and  rage  in  many  a 
bosom  besides.  I  have  already  said  that  the 
passions  will  sometimes  hold  a  joint  sway  in  the 
bosom,  each  strengthening  the  other,  and  two  idols 
may  divide  the  throne  of  the  heart.  It  often 
happens  that  the  love  of  mere  worldly  pleasure  and 
selfish  extravagance  will  co-exist  with  the  passion 
for  wealth.  The  extravagant  pleasure  makes 
money  necessary.  The  one  cannot  be  indulged 
without  the  co-operation  of  the  other,  and  Mam- 
mon is  served  all  the  more  devoutl}^  in  order  that 
the  heart  may  pay  its  oblations  at  the  shrine  of 
Belial.     The  serving  of  two  false  gods  does  not 


256  THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS  BUSINESS. 

diminish  the  guilt  of  serving  one,  and  although 
wealth  may  be  sought  to  purchase  pleasure,  the 
passion  for  money  has  still  the  debasing  character 
of  a  lust.  In  the  miser  it  may  be  avarice,  but  in 
the  fashionable  spendthrift  it  is  covetousness, 
selfish  still,  and  execrable  by  the  laws  of  God. 

Thus  much  may  show  how  money-making  may 
become  a  sin,  from  the  spirit  and  motives  with 
which  it  is  pursued.  I  remark  again,  that  it 
may  become  criminal  from  being  pursued  by 
WTong  methods. 

Every  man  has  an  unquestionable  right  to  the 
price  of  his  labour,  his  skill,  or  his  commodities. 
All  fair  commercial  intercourse,  between  man  and 
man,  is  based  on  the  exchange  of  values.  My 
neighbour  parts  with  his  superfluities  to  supply 
my  necessity;  and  I,  on  the  other  hand,  bestow 
ni}^  spare  commodities  as  the  price  of  that  sup- 
ply. By  this  process  each  is  the  gainer;  each 
contributes  his  share  to  the  general  comfort  and 
well-being  of  the  community.  No  matter  what 
be  the  material  of  exchange — the  fruits  of  the 
ground,  or  the  fruits  of  the  brain;  mechanical, 
or  artistical  skill ;  labour,  or  literature ;  the  doc- 
tor's prescription,  or  the  lawyer's  advice — what- 
ever contributes  to  the  physical,  mental,  or  moral 
weal,  is  a  fair  material  for  traflic. 

Such  is  the  simple  and  only  true  basis  of  a 


THE   CimiSTIAN    IN    HIS   BUSINESS.  257 

commerce  which  shall  em^ich  the  community, 
without  wronging  the  individual.  The  only  jus- 
tifiable method  of  gaining  wealth  is  one  that 
shall  be  consistent  with  these  fundamental  prin- 
ciples; for,  in  all  this,  there  is  no  violation  of 
the  great  moral  law  of  honesty  and  mutual  love, 
between  man  and  man.  If  sometimes  an  over- 
flowing harvest  should  increase  the  riches  of  the 
farmer,  while  at  the  same  time  a  storm  or  a  fire 
shall  impoverish  the  merchant;  if  there  be  a  rise 
of  prices  for  my  neighbour's  commodities,  and 
no  demand  for  mine — such  inequalities  of  the 
market  are  under  the  direction  of  Divine  Provi- 
dence, and  whatever  gain  there  be  to  either 
party,  it  involves  no  wrong  to  the  other.  My 
loss  is  not  from  my  neighbor's  fault ;  the  increase 
of  his  wealth  is  no  sin. 

But  suppose  that  I,  by  my  ingenuity  or  re- 
sources of  any  sort,  can  produce  an  artificial  ine- 
quality in  the  market.  Suppose  that  I  can 
monopolize  the  whole  of  any  commodity,  indis- 
pensable for  the  common  household  use  of  the 
community,  arid  thus,  being  the  only  vender, 
can  demand  my  own  price — it  is  plain  that  in 
this  case  I  create  for  that  one  commodity  a  value 
that  is  purely  artificial.  I  destroy  the  wholesome 
competition  which  regulates  the  balance  of  trade. 
Without  adding  to  the  value  of  the  commodity, 
22* 


258  THE    CHRISTIAN    IN    HIS   BUSINESS. 

I  oblige  every  citizen  to  purchase  at  an  arbitrary 
and  unnatural  price.  I  put  myself  in  the  place  of 
Divine  Providencej  and  I  levy  upon  every  purse 
a  tax,  which,  though  small  in  itself,  is  designed 
for  the  purpose  of  swelling  my  own  wealth  at 
the  expense  of  the  community,  and  for  no  other 
purpose ;  and  so  I  violate  the  first  principle  of 
fair,  and  honourable,  and  religious  trafiic.  I  must 
be  ranked  then  with  him  of  whom  the  Holy 
Scriptures  speak  thus:  ''He  that  withholdeth 
corn,  the  people  shall  curse  him."  The  princi- 
ple abides  the  same,  whether  it  be  corn,  or  cotton, 
or  stocks.  The  value  is  imaginary.  I  have  done 
nothing  that  deserves  remuneration.  My  aim  is 
to  become  rich ;  not  by  benefitting  my  neighbour, 
but  by  injuring  him — all  my  gain  is  made  up  of 
his  loss.  Such  a  method  is  either  extortion,  or 
fraud;  and  the  motive  that  impels  to  it,  can  be 
nothing  but  immitigated  covetousness.  Let  who 
will  defend  or  practise  this  method,  the  Christian 
cannot  do  it,  and  still  hold  the  integrity  of  a 
conscience  void  of  offence  towards  God  and  man. 
My  hearers,  I  had  designed  to  follow  out  the 
application  of  this  principle  into  other  callings 
than  that  of  the  trafiicker;  since  it  may  be  shown 
that  in  every  calling  tlicrc  may  be  methods  of 
gaining  wealth,  which  are  not  consistent  with 
our  Christian  profession,  or  compatible  with  a 
Christian  conscience. 


THE    CHRISTIAN    IN    HIS   BUSINESS.  259 

But  I  must  leave  this  to  your  reflections ;  while 
I  conclude  by  reminding  you,  in  the  third  place, 
of  the  danger  and  mischief  of  the  service  of 
Mammon.  It  is  the  chief  danger  of  the  times. 
Moloch  has  his  reign  in  the  periods  of  strife, 
and  anarchy,  and  conquest.  And  Ashtaroth  has 
with  us  no  public  altars ;  though  she  sometimes 
holds  out  her  seductions,  and  inspires  the  feeling 
of  her  profligate  worship  at  your  theatres  and 
your  balls.  But  in  the  times  of  peace,  of  civili- 
zation, of  commerce,  Mammon  and  Behal  may 
become  the  open  and  acknowledged  deities — the 
one,  of  every  counting  room;  the  other,  of  every 
parlour.  The  love  of  money,  to  feed  the  love 
of  fashionable  pleasure,  is  our  peculiar  peril; 
and  let  us  remember  that  it  is  an  all-grasping 
passion.  It  is  never  contented  with  the  gains  in 
possession.  It  craves  that  other  dollar.  It  has 
the  fearful  power  of  transmuting  good  motives  to 
bad ;  and  by  its  terrible  enchantment,  turns  law- 
ful means  into  unrighteous  ends.  When  the 
pleasures  for  which  money  was  hoarded  have 
grown  stale  with  age,  the  spirit  of  accumulation 
is  strongest  and  fiercest,  even  to  the  brink  of  the 
grave.  When  the  children  are  educated,  and  a 
competency  for  the  family  is  safely  invested,  the 
lust  for  gold  still  grows  on  till  its  mammoth  bulk 
crowds  out  every  generous  and  holy  feeling  from 


260  THE   CHRISTLVN    IN   HIS   BUSINESS. 

the  heart.  Many  a  time  has  the  conscientious 
and  noble  economy  of  youth  degenerated  into 
the  pitiful  and  ungodly  avarice  of  old  age.  Many 
a  time  has  the  wealthy  Christian  exhibited  the 
wretched  spectacle  of  a  benevolence,  narrowing 
in  the  inverse  proportion  to  his  riches;  until,  at 
last,  it  was  no  wider  than  his  grave. 

To  guard  against  this  malignant  and  hellish 
bane  of  Mammon,  God  has  planted  an  antidote 
in  every  regenerated  breast,  and  a  prescription 
on  the  Bible's  open  page.  It  is  the  principle  of 
holy  benevolence,  which  gains  force  by  being 
acted  out,  and  makes  the  Christian  less  in  love 
wath  money,  the  more  freely  he  dispenses  it  for 
others'  good.  This  is  the  grand  specific  against 
avarice.  If  you  would  be  saved  from  its  guilt 
and  its  ruin,  let  each  Christian  devote  his  gains, 
even  as  he  has  devoted  himself,  in  solemn  conse- 
cration, to  his  redeeming  God.  Then,  riches  will 
have  lost  their  power  of  cursing,  and  the  un- 
righteous Mammon  will  purchase  heavenly  habi- 
tations. 


SERMON    XY 


THE  CHRISTIAN  m  HIS  AMUSEMENTS. 


2  Corinthians  vi.  15. 
"What  concord  hath  Christ  with  Belial?'' 

Last  Sunday,  in  considering  the  dangers  which 
beset  a  Christian  in  his  business,  I  remarked  that 
the  various  classes  of  human  passions,  with  their 
objects,  are  aptly  represented  in  the  Scriptures, 
under  the  images  and  titles  of  idol  gods.  The 
sanguinary  passions  are  embodied  in  Moloch; 
the  lustful,  in  Ashtaroth;  the  covetous,  in  Mam- 
mon; while  those  worldly  affections  which  lead 
us  to  the  pursuit  of  mere  pleasure,  and  so  be- 
guile us  from  our  better  destiny,  are  all  repre- 
sented by  Belial,  the  god  of  worldliness.  It  is 
he  to  whom  the  apostle  refers  in  the  text,  ^^' What 
concord  hath  Christ  with  Belial  ?" 

In  the  verses  foregoing  and  following  the  text, 
he  speaks  thus:  "Be  ye  not  unequally  yoked 
together  with  unbelievers;  for  what  fellowship 

(261) 


262         THE    CHRISTIAN   IN    HIS   AMUSEMENTS. 

hath  righteousness  with  unrighteousness?  and 
what  communion  hath  Hght  with  darkness  ?  and 
what  concord  hath  Christ  with  Belial?  or  wdiat 
agreement  hath  the  temple  of  God  with  idols? 
for  ye  are  the  temple  of  the  living  God." 
It  is  evident  that  he  .intended  to  draw  a  strict 
and  strong  line  of  separation  between  the  ser- 
vants of  Christ,  and  the  servants  of  the  world. 
The  very  form  of  speech  which  he  has  chosen, 
renders  the  separation  more  emphatic.  Every 
one  of  these  questions  is  equivalent  to  a  separate 
assertion  of  the  impossibility  of  union  between 
worldUness  and  godliness. 

As  we  are  to  consider  the  Christian  in  his 
amusements,  I  have  chosen  the  words,  "What 
concord  hath  Christ  with  Belial?" 

If  w^e  should  undertake  to  answer  this  ques- 
tion historically,  we  might  say^,  A  very  easy  and 
frequent  concord.  But  if  w^e  should  answer  it 
according  to  the  essential  character  of  the  parties, 
we  could  not  avoid  saying,  None  whatever;  they 
can  have  no  concord.  Clu'ist  and  Behal  stand  to 
each  other  in  the  simple  relation  of  antagonism; 
they  are  not  merely  iinliJce,  but  rqnignani.  The 
l^leasures  of  time  and  sense  are  not  at  all  like 
those  of  eternity  and  the  soul :  to  be  devoted  to 
the  one,  is  to  deny  and  frustrate  the  other. 

The   phraseology  of  our  text   suggests   this 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS   AMUSEMENTS.         263 

thought,  that  there  are  two  powers,  each  con- 
tending with  the  other  for  the  supremacy  of  our 
hearts  and  hves;  each,  therefore,  claiming  the  aU' 
thority  and  dominion  of  a  god.  Each  has  erected 
in  this  world  a  kingdom.  The  one  has  gathered 
his  subjects  into  a  body  designated  by  certain 
tokens,  and  known  by  the  title  of  "  the  Church  of 
Christ."  The  other  has  a  host  not  less  numerous, 
denoted  by  practices  not  less  peculiar,  and  which 
may  well  bear  the  name  that  has  been  giA^en  to  it 
by  an  able  writer,  of  ''the  Church  of  the  Worlcir 
The  great  question  with  the  Christian  is — how 
flir,  as  a  member  of  the  former  of  these  churches, 
he  may,  without  sin,  conform  to  the  usages  of 
the  latter.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  it  is  a  ques- 
tion of  real  gravity. 

As  it  is  always  well,  when  we  can,  to  deter- 
mine particular  questions  by  general  principles, 
we  can  adjust  the  subject  of  amusements  in  no 
way,  perhaps,  so  comprehensively  as  by  compar- 
ing the  characters  and  purposes  of  the  Church  of 
Christ,  and  the  spirit  and  aims  of  the  World's 
Church. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  the  character  of  the 
Christian  Church  is  specified  in  this  phrase — ''  Ye 
are  the  temple  of  the  living  God."  This  lan- 
guage, though  figurative,  sufficiently  denotes  the 
high  and  peculiar  vocation  of  the  Christian.     It 


264      THE  cnmsTLVN  in  his  amusements. 

has  a  singularity  that  distinguishes  it  above  all 
other  types  of  character  or  modes  of  human  con- 
duct, and  denotes  that  God  dwells  in  his  Church 
and  acts  through  his  Church. 

The  Christian's  Lord  has  not  left  his  religion 
to  be  conserved  by  the  Christian  as  a  mere  indi- 
vidual. He  has  not  trusted  it  to  the  chances  of 
an  individual  life.  He  has  given  it  a  corporate 
character  which  never  dies  out.  This  Church 
was  designed  to  effect  by  association  what  could 
not  be  so  well  accomplished  by  the  separate  en- 
deavours of  Christians.  The  duties  of  individual 
Christians  are  not  merged  by  this  union,  but 
massed  together  in  one  accumulated  responsibility 
which  rests  upon  the  church  to  the  end  of  time. 
The  great  design  of  the  Church  then  is  to  embody 
Christianity.  It  is  a  perpetual  manifestation  to 
the  world  of  a  system  of  truth  which  came  down 
from  heaven.  It  is  like  the  monument  on  Bun- 
ker's Hill,  not  only  a  memorial  of  a  great  fact, 
but  a  witness  to  great  principles;  though  how 
unspeakably  exalted  above  all  other  monuments, 
since  it  tells  of  a  world  redeemed  to  freedom ; 
and  is  built,  not  of  mouldering  granite,  but  of 
living  stones,  that  will  endure  while  the  earth 
stands  and  be  a  memorial  in  eternity. 

Looking  at  the  Church  then  as  a  manifestation, 
we  can  understand  why  it  was  left  to  stand  in 


THE    CHRISTIAN   IN    HIS   AMUSE JIENTS.         265 

the  midst  of  an  opposing  world.  We  can  see 
why  God  does  not  snatch  away  his  ransomed,  so 
soon  as  they  are  born  again,  to  dwell  at  once  in 
the  midst  of  their  final  reward.  It  was  because 
he  meant  the  whole  sacramental  host  to  be  an 
impersonate  Christianity;  and  bring  it  before 
men's  eyes,  and  so  to  their  hearts  and  consciences, 
rebuking  their  sins  and  showing  them  a  more 
excellent  way.  To  this  end  it  was  indispensable 
that  the  Church  and  the  world  should  be  com- 
mingled. Hence  the  Saviour,  in  his  last  inter- 
cession on  earth  for  his  Church,  used  these  re- 
markable words,  "  I  pray  not  that  thou  shouldest 
take  them  out  of  the  world,  but  that  thou 
shouldest  keep  them  from  the  evil."  To  the 
same  purport  are  the  apostle's  words  to  the  Corin- 
thians, "  I  wrote  unto  you,  not  to  company  with 
fornicators,  yet  not  altogether  with  the  fornicators 
of  this  world,  nor  with  the  covetous,  or  extortioners, 
or  with  idolaters,  for  then  must  ye  needs  go  out 
of  the  world.  But  if  any  man  that  is  called  a 
brother" — i.e.,  a  fellow-Christian — "be  a  fornica- 
tor, or  covetous,  or  an  idolater,  or  a  railer,  or  a 
drunkard,  or  an  extortioner,  with  such  an  one,  no 
not  to  eat."  By  this  teaching,  then,  the  Church 
is  to  be  in  the  world,  but  not  of  the  world ;  com- 
ing into  contact  with  all  its  vices,  but  tainted  by 
none;  exposed  to  all  the  world's  business  and 
23 


266         THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS   AMUSEMENTS. 

pleasures;  not  abandoning  it  in  selfish  carelessness 
but  striving  to  convert  it;  and  all  the  while  keeping 
its  own  body  pure,  by  salutary  discipline,  from  all 
the  guilty  excesses  and  perversions  to  which  both 
pleasure  and  business  are  hable.  Righteousness 
can  have  no  real  fellowship  and  sympathy  with 
unrighteousness,  nor  spiritual  light  with  spiritual 
darkness,  nor  the  temple  of  God  with  idols. 

From  the  flict  that  the  Church  is  a  manifesta- 
tion, we  see  again  the  mistake  of  those  Christians 
who  are  contented  to  keep  their  religion  shut  up 
in  their  own  bosoms,  like  a  light  hidden  under  a 
bushel.  Satisfied  with  having,  as  they  suppose, 
secured  their  own  salvation,  they  mingle  careless- 
ly with  life's  perils,  and  indulge  free  intercourse 
with  the  world's  worldlings,  and  manifest  no  holy 
care  for  lost  souls,  no  sympathy  for  their  sure 
doom  of  sorrow,  nor  ever  raise  the  warning  voice 
or  lift  a  finger  to  save  them  from  the  wrath  to 
come.  Such  persons  have  evidently  forgotten 
the  nature  of  the  Christian  calling  as  a  manifes- 
tation. They  forget  that  by  the  law  of  Chris- 
tianity, as  well  as  of  nature,  no  man  hvetli  to 
himself. 

The  fact  that  the  Church  is  designed  as  a 
fer-petiial  witness,  contradicts  the  shallow,  but 
very  common  notion,  that  the  character  of  the 
world  is  changed,  since  the  Bible  was  written. 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN    HIS   AMUSEMENTS.         267 

Not  to  insist  on  the  obvious  thought,  that  if  this 
be  so,  then  the  Scrij^tures  are  no  true  rule  for 
Christian  conduct;  and  that  the  civilized  wis- 
dom of  the  nineteenth  century  is  better  than 
the  inspired  teaching  of  the  first,  it  may  suffice 
to  say,  that  since  the  Church,  as  an  institution, 
was  designed  to  be  in  perpetual  contradiction 
to  the  world,  it  follows  that  the  world  is  in 
just  such  perpetual  contradiction  to  the  Church ; 
and  if  there  be  in  the  Church  a  real  power  and 
spirit  of  Christ,  so  in  the  world  there  is  a  veri- 
table Belial,  and  these  two  can  have  no  concord. 
Knowing,  then,  the  main  intent  of  the  Christian 
calling,  we  meet  here  the  question,  How  far  this 
calling  is  consistent  with  what  are  called  amuse- 
ments or  pleasures  of  any  sort,  which  have  no 
direct  bearing  upon  the  salvation  of  the  soul,  or 
the  conversion  of  the  world.  I  do  not  scruple  to 
say  that  they  are  entirely  consistent.  I  do  not 
suppose  that  the  principles  of  piety  were  meant 
to  subvert  the  laws  of  nature,  or  of  the  human 
constitution;  since  they  are  both  the  decrees  of 
the  same  infinite  wisdom  and  goodness.  Re- 
generation overrules,  but  does  not  exterminate 
nature;  any  more  than  the  new  birth  of  the 
spirit  proves  that  the  Christian  was  never  born 
of  human  parents.  As  conversion  does  not  pre- 
vent hunger,  and  thkst,  and  fatigue,  so  it  does 


268         THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS   AMUSEMENTS. 

not  forbid  eating,  drinking,  and  sleeping.  By  the 
very  same  law  of  nature,  not  contradicted  by 
grace,  the  Christian  must  have  his  amusements. 
No  man  can  live  always  at  the  top  of  his  ener- 
gies, without  being  overdone  and  crazed.  Long 
excitement,  whether  of  religion,  labour,  or  plea- 
sure, is  followed  by  an  inevitable  collapse;  and 
any  measure  of  excitement  demands  a  propor- 
tionate relaxation.  If  the  bow-string  be  not 
sometimes  loosed,  the  bow  loses  the  vigour  of  its 
spring.  The  labours  and  duties  of  religion  are  to 
be  accomplished  by  the  same  natural  fiiculties 
which  are  employed  in  the  ordinary  business  of 
life.  The  same  hands  distribute  bread  to  the 
poor,  and  dispense  the  sacraments,  as  are  employ- 
ed with  the  pen  or  the  hoe.  The  same  feet 
carry  the  Christian  on  his  errands  of  business 
and  of  mercy.  The  same  tongue  makes  the  bar- 
gain and  the  prayer.  The  same  stock  of  nervous 
energy  has  to  endure  the  wear  and  tear  of  effort, 
whether  it  be  for  our  own  families,  or  for  God. 
Whatever  be  the  employment,  fatigue  is  its  neces- 
sary consequence,  and  fatigue  must  have  repose. 
Shall  it  be,  then,  the  blank  repose  of  idleness,  of 
mere  vacuity?  or  shall  it  be  that  better  rehef 
which  engages,  without  taxing  the  fixculties; 
which  relaxes  the  high  tension  of  body  and 
mind,  without  evacuating  either,  which  diverts 


THE    CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS   AMUSEMENTS.        269 

the  excitement  of  the  overworked  powers,  and 
so  prevents  congestion  and  disease  ? 

Now,  on  physiological  grounds,  there  can  be 
no  difficulty  in  deciding  these  questions.  In  all 
just  theory,  amusements  are  necessary.  Diver- 
sions are  a  tonic  to  the  animal  life,  and  their 
legitimate  use  is  as  a  recreation — a  significant  and 
a  useful  word.  It  follows  then,  that  no  particu- 
lar diversions  are,  in  theory,  wrong.  It  would 
be  both  unphilosophical  and  unjust  to  the  eternal 
majesty  and  worth  of  the  Gospel  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ,  to  concentrate  its  rebuke  against 
an  outward  act,  as  if  it  were,  in  and  of  itself,  ab- 
solutely a  sin.  Such  a  course  would  resolve  the 
Gospel  into  a  system  of  rules,  instead  of  large 
and  eternal  principles;  and  change  Christianity 
back  into  Judaism.  Such  a  course  would  make 
piety  to  consist  in  mere  restraint,  and  transform 
the  evangelical  graces  into  Homish  penances,  de- 
nying at  the  same  time  both  nature  and  grace. 
In  theory,  the  act  of  dancing  is  no  more  irreli- 
gious than  any  other  muscular  motion.  In 
theory,  the  music  of  the  opera  is  no  more  cor- 
rupting than  the  breathing  melody  of  an  seolian 
harp — God's  music.  In  theory,  a  theatrical  exhi- 
bition is  no  worse  than  any  other  imitation  of 
human  life  and  character.  In  theory,  card  play- 
ing is  a  mere  interchange  of  certain  figured 
23* 


270         THE    CHRISTIAN    IN    HIS   AMUSEMENTS. 

jDieces  of  paper.  It  seems  to  belittle  the  Gospel 
of  salvation  to  pronounce  that  these  acts,  merely 
as  acts,  are  damning  to  the  soul.  And  yet,  I 
apprehend  that  most  Christians  would  regard 
the  Christian  who  practised  them  dihgently,  as 
giving  no  very  worthy  commentary  on  a  rehgious 
profession.  And  I  am  sure  that  the  world  itself, 
the  whole  Church  of  Belial,  would  rejoice  over 
such  a  Christian,  and  there  would  be  joy  among 
the  angels  of  that  Church,  that  a  Christian  had 
been  born  a  third  time,  born  back  again  into  that 
last  state  of  Avorldliness  which  is  Avorse  than 
the  first. 

If  diversions  are  right  then  in  theory, — when, 
how,  and  wherefore,  do  they  become  wrong  in 
practice  ? 

I  presume  an  answer  to  this  question,  which 
would  satisfy  all  parties,  is  this, — Avhen  diversions 
become  worldly,  they  are  unchristian.  But  as 
this  answer  supposes  certain  feelings  and  me- 
thods called  w^orldly,  it  is  natural  to  ask  wherein 
worldliness  consists.  We  can  answer  this  ques- 
tion best,  by  considering  what  is  meant  by  ''  the 
world,"  for  worldliness  is  the  spirit  of  the  world. 

The  world,  then,  in  the  religious  sense,  is  not 
the  great  multitude  of  rich  and  poor,  high  and 
low,  wise  and  simple,  who  make  the  aggregate 
of  the  human  race;  but  it  is  that  part  of  this 


THE    CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS   AMUSEMENTS.         271 

great  multitude,  who  live  supremely  for  the  pleas- 
ures of  this  world  alone.  The  Church  of  Christ, 
we  have  seen,  lives  for  God  and  his  joys.  This 
is  its  peculiar  vocation.  The  world's  church  has 
set  its  affections  on  things  of  this  earth.  This 
is  its  peculiar  characteristic.  In  a  simple  and 
laborious  state  of  society,  there  would  be  little 
need  to  warn  the  Christian  Church  against  the 
idolatry  of  Belial,  the  god  of  worldl}^  pleasures, 
because  neither  the  condition  nor  the  position  of 
its  members  expose  them  to  this  danger.  But 
in  larger  aijd  older  communities,  there  is  always 
a  class  possessed  of  wealth  and  leisure ;  and  who, 
from  these  advantages,  exert  a  controlling  influ- 
ence on  the  manners,  practices,  and  tastes  of  the 
community.  They  stand  by  themselves,  and 
claim  a  certain  superiority  over  others,  and  pre- 
scribe to  them  the  rules  of  social  intercourse. 
Removed  from  the  necessity  of  labour  and  self- 
denial,  they  naturally  seek  excitement  in  variety 
of  indulgences,  and  in  the  multiplying  of  luxu- 
ries. The  pursuit  of  pleasure  becomes  thus  the 
one  great  purpose  of  their  life.  As  God's  Church 
is  united  by  the  single  aim  of  eternal  glory,  so 
this  class  are  joined  by  this  supreme  purpose — 
the  pursuit  of  pleasure  as  their  final  aim.  This 
pervading  sympathy  constitutes  the  unity  of  the 
church  of  the  world.     This  makes  the  baptismal 


vow  of  Belial.  Anything  that  contradicts  this, 
is  considered  out  of  place  in  the  circles  of  pleas- 
ure; and  the  discipline  of  fashionable  life  soon 
cuts  oft'  the  oftending  member,  and  purges  out  the 
offence. 

^\nv,  in  carrying  out  its  supreme  aim  of  pleas- 
ure, it  is  easy  to  perceive  that  this  class  of  society 
must  be  driven  to  continually  new  expedients. 
The  perpetual  round  of  visits  and  operas,  of  dis- 
sipated gaieties  of  the  city  in  the  winter,  and  of 
watering  places  in  the  summer,  constitutes  the 
life  of  the  circle;  and  then,  to  relie;,ve  the  dull 
uniformity  of  excitement,  there  must  be  a  re- 
vival in  the  church  of  the  world ;  new  modes  of 
amusement  must  be  introduced,  and  if  these 
should  chance  to  trench  upon  the  bounds  of  a 
chaste  and  scrupulous  propriety,  eitlier  in  dress 
or  in  attitude,  the  despotic  decree  of  fashion 
sanctions  the  encroachment;  and  as  the  circle 
lives  only  for  itself  and  pleasure,  the  novelty, 
though  it  be  neither  pure  nor  safe,  escapes  all 
penalty,  becomes  at  once  a  precedent,  and  enters 
into  the  manners  of  the  chcle;  and  manners  are 
only  lesser  morals. 

Let  this  description  suflice  for  the  church  of 
the  world's  elect.  I  should  deem  it  no  compli- 
ment to  yoiu'  understandings,  to  attempt  to  show 
that,  with  such  a  circle,  the  Chui'ch  of  Christ  can 


THE    CERISTL^V    IX    HLS   AMUSEMENTS.         273 

have  no  concord,  either  of  purpose  or  of  practice. 
Its  foundation  principle  is  in  direct  antagonism 
to  that  of  the  Christian  life ;  and  to  be  entirely 
devoted  to  its  practices,  would  he  equivalent  to 
a  renunciation  of  Christ's  baptism.  For  this  is 
the  world,  in  the  exquisite  form  of  its  worldli- 
ness.  Amusements  and  pleasures,  by  whatever 
title,  are  sinful  just  in  proportion  as  they  are 
tinctured  with  this  spirit,  or  approach  to  this  sys- 
tematic excess. 

Xow,  although  I  have  spoken  only  of  the  com- 
paratively small  class  of  the  rich  and  high,  who 
by  no  means  constitute  an  important  number  in 
the  Church  of  Christ;  yet  as  there  are  successive 
grades  in  society,  and  as  this  class  exercises  a 
conceded  supremacy,  in  dictating  the  canons  of 
social  intercourse,  it  happens  that  its  influence 
reaches  down  to  the  other  classes,  who  are  most 
often  found  in  the  Christian  Church.  An  ambi- 
tion springs  up  among  them,  to  imitate,  not  only 
the  furniture,  the  equipage,  and  general  ex- 
pensiveness  of  fashionable  life;  but  still  more 
easily  to  ape  its  manners  and  its  amusements. 
Thus  is  verified  the  adage,  that  one  may  as  well 
be  out  of  the  world  as  out  of  fashion.  It  is  then 
the  bane  has  entered  the  Church.  Seeking  high 
things  for  their  children,  if  not  for  thems^elves. 
Christian  parents  consent  to  amusements  which 


274         THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS  AMUSEMENTS. 

they  once  honestly  renounced ;  and  those  amuse- 
ments, harmless  enough  in  theory,  perhaps,  be- 
come positively  wrong  and  unchristian,  because 
practised  in  the  spirit  of  worldliness ;  or  yielded, 
in  spite  of  conscience,  as  a  concession  and  a 
sacrifice  to  the  world's  god. 

Here  lies  the  radical  sin — not  in  the  act,  but 
only  as  the  act  is  an  exponent  of  the  motive  and 
temper.  The  ambition  is  a  sin,  the  violation  of 
conscience  is  a  sin,  the  undue  parental  indulgence 
is  a  twofold  sin,  because  it  is  undue,  and  because 
it  is  wilfully  exposing  the  young  to  temptations 
to  which  they  are  peculiarl}^  susceptible,  and 
whose  indulgence  is  so  perilous  to  the  impres- 
sions of  religion,  that  there  can  be  none  more  so. 
It  is  from  them  that  Belial  gains  most  converts, 
by  perverting  their  taste,  degrading  their  ambi- 
tion, sophisticating  their  feelings,  and  stifling 
their  consciences.  When  we  remember  that  the 
Church  of  Christ  is  to  be  enlarged  from  the 
young,  if  enlarged  at  all;  that  they  are  the  only 
ones  to  take  our  places  when  we  are  gone — I  am 
sure  you  will  join  with  me  in  lamenting  the  too 
prevalent  idolatry  of  Belial;  unless  I  shall  have 
failed  to  convince  you  that  Belial  and  Christ  can 
have  no  concord. 

In  this  discourse,  I  have  refrained  from  speci- 
fying any  amusements  as  most  liable  to  be  hurt- 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS   AMUSEINIENTS.         275 

ful  to  the  Christian.  It  is  impossible  to  assign 
rules  of  general  application.  I  have  aimed  only 
to  set  forth  the  essential  principles  of  piety,  by 
which  our  choice  of  pleasures  should  be  regulated 
and  controlled.  The  proper  use  of  these  princi- 
ples would  lead  the  Christian  to  avoid,  1st,  those 
amusements  which  he  finds,  on  trial,  to  dissipate 
his  sober-mindedness,  and  unfit  him  for  prayer; 
2dly,  those  most  likely  to  be  abused  by  others, 
through  our  example;  and  3dly,  those  which,  be- 
ing associated  with  the  corrupt  fashions  of  the 
world,  have  a  bad  repute. 

If  every  Christian  would  bear  steadfastly  in 
mind,  that  the  world  and  the  Church  are  in  mu- 
tual opposition,  and  that  betAveen  Christ  and 
Belial  is  no  concord,  he  would  have  a  godly 
jealousy  of  the  pleasures  of  the  world,  and  a 
touchstone  always  at  hand,  to  test  the  tempting 
amusement.  He  would  himself  be  shielded  from 
the  familiar  reproach  that  is  launched  against  the 
cause  of  Christ  by  the  world,  and  from  that 
fierce  and  scornful  taunt,  with  which  Satan  some- 
times wounds  his  pride  of  consistency;  and  that 
most  terrible  reproof  of  all,  with  which  his  in- 
jured Saviour  looks  upon  him  from  his  cross. 

If  these  principles  were  acted  out  by  the 
Church  at  large,  what  testimonjMvould  the  Church 
give  to  the  power  of  regeneration !    In  the  world, 


276         THE    CimiSTIAN   IN   HIS   AMUSEMENTS. 

but  not  of  it ;  sanctified  in  her  faithful  labours,  and 
not  unsanctified  even  in  her  pleasures ;  she  would 
be  bright  with  peculiar  brightness.  Even  her 
enemies  would  own  her  as  the  temple  of  the  liv- 
ing God,  and  Belial  w^ould  not  dream  of  any 
other  concord  with  Christ,  than  that  of  total  sub- 
mission. 


SERMON    XYI 


THE  CHRISTIAN  IN  HIS  CHARITIES, 


OR 

THE  RULE  AND  MEASURE  OF  ALMSGIVING 


1  Corinthians  xvi.  2. 


"Upon  the  first  day  of  the  week,  let  every  one  of  rou 

LAY   BY    HIM    IN    STORE,    AS    GOD    HATH    PROSPERED    HIM.'' 

The  support  of  feeble  churches,  by  those  which 
■were  stronger  and  richer,  became  an  early  duty 
of  the  Christian  profession.  Not  many  of  the 
mighty  or  noble  were  called,  for  God  had  chosen 
the  weak  things  of  the  world  to  confound  the 
things  that  were  mighty,  and  to  show  the  Divine 
superiority  of  moral  force  in  achieving  the  victory 
of  redemption.  Still,  as  Christians  were  men, 
and  had  man's  common  wants — often  aggravated 
by  their  sacrifice  of  worldly  advantages — they 
became  often  dependent  on  each  other  for  the 
support  which  the  world  refused  to  give. 

24  (277) 


278  THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS   CHARITIES. 

This  was  specially  true  of  those  who  gave 
themselves  to  the  vocation  of  the  Christian  minis- 
try, and  whose  labours,  therefore,  involved  a 
separation  from  all  common  and  secular  pursuits. 
This  providential  poverty  of  the  early  church 
furnished  an  admirable  opportunity  for  illustrating 
the  grand  characteristic  of  the  gospel  of  Jesus — 
its  large  love ;  and  for  developing,  into  early  ripe- 
ness, the  affections  of  the  regenerated  heart. 
By  this  early  history  of  Christianity,  therefore, 
we  are  taught  that  benevolence  is  one  of  its 
prime  and  constant  duties;  and  from  its  primi- 
tive examples  we  may  learn  how  to  practise  the 
duty  under  difficulties. 

In  the  text  St.  Paul  instructs  the  Corinthians 
touching  both  the  rule  and  the  measure  of  their 
Christian  almsgiving.  '*'Now,  concerning  the 
collection  for  the  saints,  as  I  have  given  order  to 
the  churches  of  Galatia,  even  so  do  ye.  On  the 
first  day  of  the  week  let  every  one  of  3'ou  lay  by 
him  in  store,  as  God  hath  prospered  him."  It 
would  thus  appear  that  the  apostle  adopted  one 
rule  for  several  churches;  from  which  circum- 
stance we  may  infer  that  he  thought  such  a  rule 
cjenerally  expedient.  His  object  seems  to  have 
been,  to  establish  not  onlj'-  a  habit  but  a  system  of 
benevolent  action,  which  should  constitute  a  part 
of  the  church's  life. 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS   CHARITIES.  279 

Systematic  benevolence,  its  rule  and  measure, 
is  therefore  the  subject  of  the  text. 

To  many  of  you  the  subject  is  not  new. 
Several  years  ago  I  brought  before  you,  in  a 
pastoral  letter,  this  great  Christian  duty  and  its 
sanctions.  A  plan  was  then  adopted  by  a  num- 
ber of  families  among  us,  by  which,  on  every 
Sunday,  a  collection  was  made  of  the  offerings 
of  each  member,  and  a  domestic  treasury  was 
established  for  the  support  of  the  various  objects 
of  Christian  benevolence.  The  marked  success 
of  this  plan,  in  the  increase  of  your  gifts  of  love 
and  faith,  was  a  sufficient  voucher  for  its  pro- 
priety. By  degrees,  however — perhaps  from  my 
neglect  to  stir  up  your  pure  minds  by  way  of 
remembrance — the  plan  seemed  to  fall  out  of  use, 
and  the  subsequent  action  of  this  church,  in  this 
great  department  of  Christian  duty,  has  failed  to 
illustrate  truly  either  the  abundance  of  your 
means,  or,  I  trust,  the  earnestness  of  your  piety^ 
Let  me  ask  you,  then,  to  review  some  of  the  con- 
siderations which  may  be  urged  in  favour  of  a 
definite  system  of  beneficence,  and  of  its  rule  and 
measure. 

First,  then,  a  sysiem  of  beneficent  action  in- 
volves the  same  advantage  wdiich  belongs  to 
system  in  all  other  departments  of  a  religious 
life.     It  enhsts  the  mighty  power  of  habit  for  a 


280  THE   CHRISTIAN   IX    HIS  CHARITIES. 

salutary  end.  Prone,  as  human  life  is,  to  run  on 
upon  a  level,  each  day  repeating  itself,  with  its 
wonted  business,  like  the  returning  morning  and 
night,  man  grows  to  be  a  creature  of  custom,  or, 
as  it  has  been  said,  a  bundle  of  habits.  Every- 
thing without,  as  well  as  within  him,  tends  to 
constancy.  Excitements,  moods  of  enthusiasm, 
passionate  extasies,  are  rare  and  extraordinary. 
Disturbed  nature  loves  to  return  to  her  old  laws, 
and  habit  soon  asserts  its  claim  of  prescription. 
In  such  a  state  of  things  religion  can  never 
maintain  its  power,  unless  it  conform  to  the 
nature  of  man  and  of  the  universe.  Religion 
itself  must  be  a  habit.  It  must  enter  in  among 
the  businesses  of  life — itself  the  chief  business. 
It  must  not  merely  press  down  the  nature  of 
man  by  its  occasional  vehemence,  as  the  hurricane 
bows  the  forest  tree,  but  it  must  live  in  the  cares 
and  pleasures  of  life — a  daily  influence — like  the 
gale,  when  its  fury  is  changed  into  the  steady 
summer  breeze,  pressing  both  stem  and  branches 
in  one  permanent  bias,  and  making  music  among 
the  dancing  leaves. 

The  Christian,  who,  refusing  a  system  of  piety, 
leaves  his  religious  duties  to  be  regulated  by  his 
impulses  and  feelings,  is  sure  to  suffer  from  bar- 
renness of  soul.  Unless  his  private  devotions  be 
a  matter  of  systematic  habit,  he  is  in  danger  that 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS    CHARITIES.  281 

his  devotion  will  be  quite  rooted  out.  He  who 
allows  himself  to  abstain  from  the  house  of  God, 
for  a  part  of  the  Sabbath,  or  on  the  week-day,  will 
find  inevitably  that  neglect  grows  easier  wdth 
every  w^eek.  And  to  meet  the  depraving  ten- 
dencies of  habit  of  one  sort,  he  must  establish  a 
practice  of  a  different  sort,  sanctified,  and,  above 
all,  steady. 

Now  this  self-policy  is  no  less  indispensable 
in  our  charities,  than  in  our  devotions.  They 
should  be  habitual,  business  like;  and  arranged, 
if  I  may  say  so,  on  a  certain  principle  of  mech- 
anism. 

I  do  not  indeed  believe  with  some,  that  our 
rehgious  gifts  are  to  be  regulated  exclusively  on 
a  principle  of  mere  form,  and  of  cool,  conscientious 
system;  that  they  are  never  to  be  prompted  by 
awakened  feeling,  occasional  sympathy,  and  ex- 
traordinary appeal.  On  the  contrary,  I  suppose 
that  religion,  though  a  Divine  principle,  was 
planted  in  human  nature  to  be  humanised ;  not 
to  stand  stark  and  solitary  in  the  breast,  sepa- 
rated from  the  natural  feelings,  and  sequestered 
from  all  that  the  heart  naturally  loves.  The 
sensibilities  are  not  to  be  tortured  and  crucified, 
but  ruled  and  sanctified,  by  the  presence  and 
power  of  a  heavenly  element.  The  Divine  life, 
though,  like  our  ordinary,  it  should  be  habitual, 
24* 


282  THE    CHRISTIAN    IN   HIS   CHARITIES. 

is  just  as  much  exposed  to  occasional  influences, 
th.'it  ^vaken  it  to  unwonted  activity.  The  walk 
must,  on  emergency,  sometimes  he  quickened  to 
a  run ;  the  easy  exercise,  to  a  vehement  struggle ; 
the  heart's  unfelt  pulse,  to  a  throbbing  that  shall 
seem  almost  to  burst  the  bosom;  and  the  calm 
respiration  of  the  chest,  to  the  convulsive  heaving 
wliich  gathers  all  the  strength  into  a  moment  of 
effort.  And  if  this  is  sometimes  necessary  in 
our  animal  life,  so  it  is  in  our  mental,  and  not 
less  in  our  spiritual  and  religious.  Our  common 
prayers  may  sometimes  be  deepened  by  a  rap- 
ture of  devotion;  our  settled  love  of  Jesus,  exal- 
ted even  to  extasy;  our  Christian  hope  may  rise 
out  of  its  calm  seat  of  meditation,  and  soar  to 
seize  its  prize. 

Accordingly,  our  benevolence  may  sometimes 
be  excited  out  of  its  calm  mood  as  a  principle, 
into  an  enthusiasm,  as  of  passion.  Some  unusual 
distress  of  Christ's  cause,  some  new  picture  of 
sorrow,  some  emergent  need  in  any  of  the  enter- 
prizes  of  benevolence,  may  stir  the  Christian  to 
the  extraordinary  effort  with  which  he  might 
rush  to  snatch  a  friend  from  the  flames  of  his 
dweUing.  Yet  while  this  occasional  excitement 
is  allowable,  and  not  unhealthful,  in  religion  and 
in  life,  it  can  never  become  ordinary  and  constant. 
A  man  should  no  more  trust  to  such  moods  for 


THE   CHRISTIAN   IN    HIS   CHARITIES.  283 

the  maintenance  of  his  piety,  than  wait  and  depend 
on  conflagrations  for  his  bodily  exercise. 

Having  said  thus  much  on  the  principle  of 
system  in  our  beneficence,  let  us  see  the  working 
of  the  principle  under  the  operation  of  the  apos- 
tle's rule.  "  Upon  the  first  day  of  the  week,  let 
every  one  of  you  lay  by  him  in  store."  The  rule 
then,  is  a  periodical,  a  weekly,  a  Sabbath  gift. 

Periodical  beneficence  has  several  advantages 
peculiar  to  itself.  The  foremost  of  these,  perhaps, 
is  that  it  seems  to  bring  the  Christian  giver  more 
immediately  into  the  presence,  and  under  the  eye 
of  God.  As  he  deposits  his  oifering  of  duty  in 
the  place  consecrated  for  holy  gifts,  privately, 
away  from  the  observation  of  all  others,  he  may 
be  naturally  led  to  reflect  upon  the  purpose  of  the 
contribution,  the  reasons  for  the  duty,  and  all 
the  associated  thoughts  that  come  in  with  these. 
Perhaps  his  offering  is  small,  and  he  may  well  be 
reminded  of  the  huge  debt  he  owes  to  redeeming 
love,  and  a  protecting  providence.  He  reflects 
upon  the  overwhelming  need  of  that  world  of  sin 
and  sorrow,  for  which  his  alms  are  designed. 
He  scans  the  methods  of  grace,  reviews  the  pro- 
mises, forecasts  eternity,  searches  his  own  heart, 
invokes  the  omnipotent  blessing  upon  the  deed 
of  love,  which,  though  it  may  be  to  the  utmost 
of  his  means,  he  feels  is  far  from  commensurate 
with  the  mighty  exigencies  of  a  ruined  world. 


284  THE   CHRISTIAN    IN    HIS   CHARITIES. 

Whatever  be  the  periods  he  assigns  to  himself 
for  these  gifts  of  charit}^,  the  very  act  of  dehber- 
ately  separating  a  portion  of  his  wealth  for  a 
sacred  use,  brings  his  mind  into  contact  ^Yith 
such  impressions  as  these ;  and  it  is  impossible 
that  he  should  not  be,  for  the  time,  more  spiritu- 
ally minded,  world-forgetting  and  devout.  He 
will  form  true  judgments  of  life  and  its  purposes, 
and  will  have  imposed  a  check  upon  the  wanton- 
ness of  those  feelings  of  avarice,  which  thwart 
so  habitually  the  impulses  of  Christian  kindness. 

]Moreover,  this  private,  periodical  beneficence, 
begets  the  hahit  of  charity,  more  than  such  gifts 
as  are  bestowed  under  the  excitement  of  public 
appeal;  because  they  are  made  at  a  time  when 
the  heart  and  mind  are  in  a  state  more  like  that 
of  ordinary  life.  A  deed,  done  under  unusual 
excitement,  may  engender  a  disposition  to  do 
that  same  deed  again  under  the  same  excitement. 
But  the  habit  that  grows  from  such  deeds,  will 
be  only  the  habit  of  acting  under  excitement. 
Its  influence  will  terminate  with  the  occasion; 
and  when  the  flush  of  feehng  shall  have  spent 
itself,  nature  falls  into  collapse,  and  must  sleep, 
in  order  to  recruit.  This  will  never  do  for  a 
Christian.  His  cool,  every-day  life,  is  made  up 
by  habits;  and  if  his  religion  is  to  be  for  every 
day,  his  habits  must  be  formed  in  those  moods 
of  mind  in  which  he  will  usuafly  be  called  to  act. 


THE    CHRISTIAN   IN    HIS    CHARITIES.  285 

Another  advantage  of  this  method  of  charity 
is,  that  the  motive  will  be  purer,  and  the  gift 
more  acceptable  to  God.  A  religious  gift  is 
neither  greater  nor  less,  except  as  God  will  own 
and  bless  it.  It  may  be  a  gift  of  many  dollars, 
or  of  a  single  dime.  The  larger  contribution  will 
bring  no  good  to  giver  or  receiver,  if  God  blow 
upon  it,  in  scorn  of  the  motive.  The  lesser  gift 
wdll  redound  to  the  greater  grace  of  the  donor, 
the  benefit  of  the  receiver,  and  the  glory  of  God, 
if,  from  a  loving,  humble  heart,  that  gift  goes  forth 
with  faith  and  prayer.  Let  us  remember  that 
the  coin  which  we  cast  into  the  Lord's  treasury, 
is  weighed  in  scales  not  adjusted  to  our  standard. 
In  the  balances  of  the  sanctuary,  spirit  has 
weight,  and  a  grain  of  grace  is  heavier  than 
pounds  of  gold. 

Now,  when  we  make  our  contributions  in  pub- 
lic, or  under  the  eyes  of  men,  we  often  give  from 
ostentation,  like  Pharisees ;  we  often  give  from 
fear  of  shame;  often  from  the  stress  of  con- 
science, and  its  rod;  often  from  mere  natural 
generosity;  and,  in  either  case,  we  give  without 
that  cordial  regard'  for  Christ  and  his  cause,  that 
humble  love,  that  deems  it  a  blessing  to  give ; 
in  which  alone  the  grace  of  charity  consists.  This 
dangerous  liabihty  is  obviated  by  the  method  of 
private,  deliberate,  periodical  contribution. 

I  may  add  to  these  considerations  another, 


286  THE   CHRISTIAN   IX   HIS   CHARITIES. 

A'iz :  that  a  system  of  periodical  charity  will  se- 
cure, for  the  cause  of  benevolence,  both  more 
donors  and  more  donations. 

It  will  secure  more  donors,  because  there  are 
some,  in  CAxry  church,  who  feel  that  the  Httle 
which  they  can  give  of  their  poverty,  is  hardly 
worthy  to  be  publicly  offered;  and  rather  than 
appear  to  give  so  little  as  they  must,  they  may 
decline  to  bestow  even  w^hat  they  can.  These 
smaller  beneflictions,  wdien  made  periodically, 
easily  swell  from  small  to  great,  and  soon  be- 
come of  magnitude  enough  to  be  thought  not 
unworthy  of  the  altar  of  the  sanctuary. 

And  besides  the  increased  number  of  donors, 
there  will  be  a  multiplication  of  gifts.  If  you 
have  no  other  sj^stem  of  charity,  than  the  public 
and  occasional  one  of  the  church,  you  will  feel 
called  upon  to  give,  only  when  you  are  here  to 
be  asked.  Your  absence,  on  that  occasion,  would 
then  be  a  loss  to  the  cause,  and  to  your  own 
spiritual  welffire.  A  year  might  pass  without 
bearing  its  fruits  of  love  from  you  to  God;  be- 
cause you  depended  on  the  occasion  of  charity 
offered  you  by  the  minister,  rather  than  on  the 
system  adopted  for  yourself 

But  I  pass  to  consider  the  remainder  of  the 
apostle's  rule,  which  I  must  do  very  bricfl3^  The 
gifts  are  to  be  not  only  periodical,  but  at  short 


THE    CHRISTIAN   IN    HIS   CHARITIES.  287 

periods;  weekly,  as  God  hath  prospered  you 
during  the  week.  I  am  well  aware,  that  with 
our  present  methods  of  business  it  would  be 
quite  impracticable,  for  most  of  you,  to  determine 
how  much  a  week's  prosperity  w^ould  be.  Then 
let  the  best  approximation  to  an  estimate  be  made 
tueeJiIij.  Keep  up,  at  least,  to  the  sjnrit  of  the 
rule,  and  give  something,  in  faith ;  and  wdien  the 
account  is  taken  of  your  profits,  if  it  be  only 
once  a  year,  you  will  be  ready  to  compensate,  if 
need  be,  the  deficiencies  of  the  fifty-two  weekly 
offerings. 

Let  it  be  on  the  first  day  of  the  week;  a 
Sabbath  offering,  because  it  is  a  Sabbath  deed, 
and  there  is  none  more  worthy  of  the  sacred 
day.  When  the  shop  is  shut,  and  the  exchange 
is  still,  and  the  tongue  of  the  chafferer  is  tuning 
itself  to  other  strains;  when  the  admonishing 
bell  rings  out  its  jubilate,  and  all  things  signalize 
the  day,  of  all  others,  far  the  best;  let  your  first 
Sabbath  deed,  after  consecrating  the  day  to  God 
and  your  soul,  be  an  humble,  grateful,  prayerful 
gift  to  your  adorable  Redeemer.  Let  this  be  the 
Sabbath  rule  of  your  household,  of  all  your 
households;  and  I  say,  not  simply  that  the 
treasury  of  the  Lord  may  be  filled  from  your 
open  hearts  and  hands,  but  that  the  bounty  of 
your  covenant  God  would  overflow,  to  the  huge 


288  THE   CHRISTIAN   IN   HIS   CHARITIES. 

increase  of  your  spiritual  wealth ;  for  he  would 
open  the  windows  of  heaven,  and  pour  out  a 
blessing,  that  there  should  not  be  room  enough 
to  receive  it. 

Such  is  the  system  and  rule  of  Christian  be- 
neficence. Its  measure — "  As  God  hath  jorospered 
you" — is  a  large  measure  to  some,  but  it  is  a 
measure  for  each  and  all.  "As  God  hath  pros- 
pered you" — prospered  you  in  health,  as  well  as 
in  wealth ;  in  your  family,  as  well  as  in  your 
business.  Give  him  a  return  from  each  profitable 
venture,  or  bargain,  or  investment.  Render  him 
golden  tribute  for  every  special  mercy,  a  thank- 
offering  for  your  child's  recovery  from  sickness ; 
for  your  safe  return  from  sea;  for  every  demon- 
stration of  Providence,  which  has  made  you  feel 
that  a  mighty  arm  was  stretched  out  over  you, 
and  that  you  and  your  welfare  were  in  the  hand 
of  a  sovereign  and  most  gracious  God. 


SERMON   XYII. 


THE  CHRISTIAN'S  SATISFYING  PORTION. 


Psalm  xvii.  15. 


**AS    FOR   ME,    I  WILL   BEHOLD    THY    FACE    IN    RIGHTEOUSNESS: 
I  SHALL  BE  SATISFIED  WHEN  I  AWAKE  WITH    THY  LIKENESS." 

The  seventeentli  Psalm  seems  to  have  been 
composed  during  one  of  those  seasons  of  afflic- 
tion, which  overcast  the  summer  of  king  David's 
life ;  when,  perhaps,  fleeing  from  the  angry  pre- 
sence of  Saul,  hunted  like  a  partridge  in  the 
mountains,  wearied  and  oppressed  with  life,  he 
sat  himself  down  in  the  shelter  of  some  cliif,  and 
sang  forth  his  soul's  longings  to  God. 

In  the  perusal  of  this  Psalm,  it  is  very  observ- 
able, that  the  hope  of  the  holy  man  was  contem- 
plating something,  not  only  better,  but  very  dif- 
ferent from  anything  the  world  bestows.  It  was 
not  that  he  knew  there  were  riches  in  store  for 
him,  greater  than  those  of  his  enemies ;  nor  was 
it  an  earthly  distinction,  that  should  overtop  and 

25  (289) 


290     THE  christian's  satisfying  portion. 

outshine  the  best  honours  of  king  Saul.  He 
might  have  had  this  joy,  had  he  but  looked  for- 
ward to  the  oncoming  years  of  his  life,  when  the 
outcast  David  should  become  the  most  exalted 
of  Israel's  favoured  kings.  But  pomp,  and  pa- 
geantry, and  regal  state,  were  not  the  objects  of 
his  soul's  coveting.  The  fervent  spirit  that  moved 
him,  was  the  same  as  we  hear  breathing  in  the 
sweet  strain  of  another  psalm — "My  soul  hath 
a  desire,  yea,  even  a  longing,  to  enter  into  the 
courts  of  the  Lord — my  heart  and  my  flesh  cry 
out  for  the  living  God."  "Blessed  are  they  that 
dwell  in  thy  house :  they  shall  be  always  prais- 
ing thee."  It  is  most  evident  the  Psalmist's  de- 
sires were  unearthly;  not  only  because  they 
pointed  to  a  reward  greater  than  the  earth  can 
yield,  but  because  they  were  of  a  kind  not  born 
of  the  earth.  It  was  a  delight,  as  purely  spiri- 
tual as  any  we  can  conceive,  when  he  exclaimed, 
"  I  shall  behold  thy  face  in  righteousness :  I  shall 
be  satisfied  when  I  wake  up  in  thy  likeness." 
I  take  this  to  be  a  very  proper  test  of  a  renewed 
and  converted  mind,  that  it  longs  for  spiritual 
prosperity,  more  than  for  all  other  joys.  I  can 
think  of  no  characteristic  so  pure,  and  no  proof 
of  a  man's  piety  so  undeniable,  as  that  which 
makes  him  desire  to  go  to  heaven,  simply  because 
God  is  there. 


THE  christian's  satisfying  portion.     291 

Since  piety  is  the  same  in  all  ages,  and  since 
heaven  is  unchangeable,  every  true  Christian 
will  entertain  the  same  desires  as  the  Psalmist, 
and  will  aspire  after  the  same  objects.  The  mind 
that  is  renewed  in  the  image  of  God,  will  take 
delight  in  nothing  so  much  as  in  growing  more 
and  more  like  its  Maker  and  Eedeemer.  And, 
therefore,  I  have  chosen  as  our  subject  to-day, 
the  Christian's  satisfying  portion — in  the  hope 
that  our  meditations  on  it  may  lead  the  steadfast 
to  become  more  steadfast;  the  afflicted  to  find 
matter  of  high  comfort  and  peace;  the  unsteady 
and  double  minded,  to  fasten  their  affections  in 
heaven,  as  by  an  anchor;  and  the  worldly,  and 
unspiritual,  and  backsliding,  if  there  be  any  such, 
to  feel  they  are  defrauding  their  souls;  and  to 
turn  back  after  the  blessedness  they  spoke  of, 
when  first  they  saw  the  Lord. 

That  we  may  reap  such  fruits,  we  pray  to  thee, 
0  thou  Holy  Spirit  of  the  Father,  and  Spirit  of 
the  Son,  that  thou  wouldst  touch  our  lips  with 
fire  from  God,  and  make  our  hearts  to  burn 
within  us,  Avith  the  love  of  thee. 

The  Christians  satisfying  portion.  It  is  found 
with  God ;  contemplating  God ;  being  assimilated 
to  God.  "I  shall  behold  thy  face  in  righteous- 
ness :  I  shall  be  satisfied  when  I  wake  up  in  thy 
likeness." 


292     THE  christian's  satisfying  portion. 

The  text  evidently  suggests  this  order  of  re- 
mark:  1st.  The  vision  of  God — "I  shall  behold 
thy  face."  2dly.  Assimilation  to  God — "When 
I  awake  in  thy  likeness."  odly.  The  satisfac- 
tion resulting  from  this  state — "I  shall  be  satis- 
fied" with  it. 

1st.  The  vision  of  God.  "I  shall  behold  thy 
face  in  righteousness." 

What  is  the  vision  of  God?  Is  it  a  vision  of 
the  natural  eye?  Shall  we  gaze  upon  Deity  as 
we  gaze  on  the  meridian  sun  ?  Is  there  a  quality 
that  enfolds  its  nature  in  such  a  way  that  we 
can  survey,  with  our  bodily  faculties,  the  illus- 
trious presence  into  which  we  are  ushered?  I 
think  the  question  may  be  answered  in  the  af- 
firmative. We  know  that  in  heaven  there  will 
be  the  redemption  of  the  whole  man.  We  are 
assured  that  these  mortal  frames  of  ours  shall,  in 
the  process  of  dying,  lose  nothing  but  their  mor- 
tality; that  they  shall  rise  again,  and  ascend  up 
to  the  skies,  spiritual  and  undying,  but  bodies 
still;  wearing  the  form  of  bodies,  and  endowed 
with  all  the  faculties  of  human  beings.  If  heaven 
be  the  home  of  the  redeemed,  it  will  be  the  home 
of  their  whole  nature ;  and  as  the  Scriptures  de- 
scribe the  many  visible  forms  of  glory  and  beauty 
there — angels  and  archangels,  and  all  the  bright 
hierarchy  of  heaven;  white  robes,  and  a  bright 


THE    christian's   SATISFYING   PORTION.        293 

throne — to  be  beheld  in  that  resurrection  state — 
may  we  not  suppose  that  if  these  forms  shall  be 
present  to  the  eye,  much  more  will  there  be  an 
exhibition  of  that  presence  which  makes  every 
thing  in  heaven  beautiful ;  and  without  which, 
heaven  would  be  only  hke  a  dark  pit?  K  God 
is  there,  then — God,  the  head  and  substance  of 
glory — will  he  not  manifest  himself  in  the  efful- 
gence of  his  uncreated  light?  Will  not  every 
e.ye  instinctively  turn  to  drink  in  the  luxury  of 
vision,  and  to  gaze  on  the  splendour  of  Jehovah 
manifested  ? 

The  renewed  man  shall  look  right  upon  God 
in  his  splendid  manifestation,  on  what  the  Psalm- 
ist calls  the  face  of  God ;  and  instead  of  being 
overwhelmed  and  blinded  with  insufferable  splen- 
dour, shall  find  it  yield  a  sensible  and  exquisite 
delight,  such  as  the  richest  pleasure  of  vision 
cannot  now  approximate. 

And  I  think  this  view  of  the  matter  is  fiivoured 
by  another  consideration.  Heaven  is  represented 
to  us  as  the  scene  of  the  loftiest  adoration  and 
worship,  and  hence  there  must  be  found  there  all 
the  facilities  for  the  intensest  devotion.  We  know 
how  any  affection  of  the  soul  is  enhvened  by  the 
presence  of  its  object.  The  calm  flow  of  habitual 
love  is  often  quickened  to  a  rush,  when  the  one 
who  is  beloved  stands  unexpectedly  before  us  in 
25* 


294     THE  christian's  satisfying  portion. 

person.  The  admiration  that  was  stirred  by  a 
poet's  song,  shall  be  immeasurably  deepened  when 
we  go  and  stand  in  the  midst  of  the  scenes  he 
has  described.  The  laws  of  our  impulses  seem 
to  require,  that  in  order  to  the  deepest  emotion 
there  must  be  not  only  a  deep  sensibility,  but  a 
sensible  object.  Now,  when  our  human  nature, 
with  all  its  faculties  woven  about  it  like  a  tissue, 
is  exalted  up  to  heaven,  will  not  the  same  prin- 
ciple hold  good  ?  Will  not  this  law  of  our  hu- 
manity be  as  valid  and  operative  there  as  here? 
And  in  order  that  we  may  enjoy  the  best  rapture 
of  devotion,  will  it  not  be  in  a  measure  necessary 
that  the  object  our  souls  adore  shall  be  manifested 
to  the  natural  eye ;  so  that  the  entire  humanity 
shall  be  engrossed,  and  the  outward  as  well  as 
the  inward  man,  bestow  its  faculties,  and  find  its 
dehght,  in  the  contemplation  of  God's  glory  ? 

What  honour  God  has  conferred  on  these  cor- 
ruptible bodies !  What  an  exalted  destiny  for 
these  frail  faculties  of  sense!  Now,  they  often 
vibrate  painfully,  as  some  rough  event  of  life 
sweeps  over  them,  like  a  rude  hand  trying  the 
strings  of  a  harp;  and  sometimes  they  are  all 
unstrung  by  disease,  as  if  the  harp  were  dis- 
mantled, and  its  music  gone ;  but  in  heaven  they 
shall  be  braced  again,  and  never  fall  out  of  tune. 
The  body  shall  be  fitted,  by  its  regeneration,  for 


THE   CHRISTUN'S   SATISFYING   PORTION.        295 

the  pure  delights  of  immortality.  The  eye  shall 
never  be  tired  of  seeing,  nor  the  ear  of  hearing 
the  delicious  things  of  God's  abode.  The  facul- 
ties shall  be  constantly  awake  with  lively  sensi- 
bility, and  the  harp  of  thousand  strings  shall 
discourse  of  the  glory  of  God  forever  more. 

Yet  this  is,  after  all,  the  lowest  view  of  heaven. 
Refined  as  our  senses  may  be,  they  will  be  still 
subsidiary  to  the  yet  more  refined  soul.  Must 
there  not  be  in  heaven  the  same  correspondence 
and  relation  that  now  subsist  between  the  spirit 
and  body  in  every  renewed  man  and  woman? 
The  soul  shall  always  have  the  pre-eminence. 
The  body  shall  be  always  its  minister  to  serve  it. 
I  suppose  that  when  the  Psalmist  speaks  of  be- 
holding God's  face,  he  has  a  higher  meaning  than 
this.  Is  there  not  a  sense  in  which  the  soul  it- 
self shall  behold  God?  Just  as  the  eye  will 
survey  his  natural  glories — why  may  not  the  soul 
have  a  vision  of  its  own,  by  which  it  will  con- 
template the  intellectual  and  moral  aspect  of 
Jehovah. 

This  view  will  not  be  contested  by  any  one 
who  would  disrelish  the  grossness  of  a  Mahome- 
tan heaven,  or  the  tameness  of  an  arcadian  Para- 
dise. We  know  that  the  chief  excellence  of 
Jehovah  must  be,  and  is,  something  more  and 
better  than  a  material  splendour.     We  might 


296     THE  christian's  satisfying  portion. 

guess  that  the  Infinite  Sphit  would  not  be  con- 
tent with  an  outward  brightness,  when  he  had 
only  to  put  forth  the  volitions  of  his  moral  nature 
to  make  the  universe  bow  down  before  the  in- 
effable splendour  of  the  perfect  Godhead. 

And  these  conjectures  are  strikingly  in  accor- 
dance with  the  Divine  revelation  of  himself.  Je- 
hovah evidently  refers  his  primest  glory  to  the 
moral  attributes  which  clothe  his  nature.  He 
speaks  of  himself  in  one  passage  of  the  Scriptures 
as  "He  is  glorious  in  holiness)'  and  in  another 
place,  when  Moses  is  said  to  have  prayed  that  God 
would  show  him  his  glory,  the  prayer  was  granted, 
and  the  answer  was,  "  I  will  cause  all  my  good- 
ness to  pass  before  thee."  And  we  find  the 
apostle  lost  in  admiration  of  the  Divine  glory,  as 
it  was  disclosed  in  the  imsdom  of  redemption. 
With  the  spirit  of  inspiration  for  our  prompter,  it 
is  evident  that  the  best  glory  of  the  Godhead  is 
his  moral  and  mental  excellence;  and  when  the 
Psalmist  speaks  of  the  face  of  God,  we  are  to 
understand  his  words  in  the  eminent  sense  of  the 
immediate  unveiling  and  display  of  God's  spiritual 
nature,  so  that,  as  St.  John  says,  "we  shall  see 
him  as  he  is." 

I  feel,  at  this  moment,  that  we  are  trenching 
upon  ground  that  is  not  all  our  own.  We  are 
coming  nigh  the  limits  where  human  faculties 


THE   christian's   SATISFYING   PORTION.        297 

halt;  and  are  obliged  to  confess  themselves  beg- 
gared and  broken  down.  When  we  start  the 
question.  How  shall  the  soul  look  upon  the  ab- 
solute and  abstract  qualities  of  God's  moral 
nature? — how  will  our  mental  operations  differ, 
when  we  come  into  the  presence  of  the  Almighty, 
from  the  manner  of  their  exercise  on  earth  ? — we 
are  obliged  to  confess  that  it  cannot  be  described. 
If  any  of  us  had  been  drilled  in  this  exercise 
of  glory,  he  could  not  describe  it  so  that  it  could 
be  realized  and  understood  by  another,  any  more 
than  the  mole  can  understand  why  the  eagle  is 
not  blinded  when  he  soars  into  the  sunlight. 

Yet  the  subject  is  not  without  its  instruction 
in  this  very  respect.  You  have  only  to  suppose 
your  faculties  dilated,  and  lifted  up  indefinitely; 
and  you  may  then  believe,  at  least,  that  it  will  be 
possible  for  the  soul  directly  to  contemplate  God, 
as  the  source  and  fountain  of  all  mental  and 
moral  excellence.  "We  can  see,  too,  that  such  a 
vision  of  the  Godhead  must  be  most  ennobling. 
Here  we  are  blessed  with  the  revelations  of  him, 
which  are  only  partial  and  fragmentary.  God  is 
in  the  universe,  but  we  must  travel  over  the  uni- 
verse to  learn  the  extent  to  w^hich  his  disclosures 
run.  We  find  one  attribute  here,  and  yonder 
we  track  the  footsteps  of  another.  Now  it  is 
wisdom,  then  it  is  power,  and  again  goodness, 


298     THE  christian's  satisfying  portion. 

and  justice,  and  truth;  and  from  these  scattered 
workings  of  God  we  may  combine  a  notion  of  his 
whole  essential  character,  and  learn  that  God  has 
a  path  in  this  world  in  which  he  walks.  But 
these,  after  all,  are  only  the  hidings  of  Deity. 
It  is  God  we  see,  but  it  is  a  God  who  concealeth 
himself.  Our  present  apprehension  of  him  is  just 
enough  for  proof — our  whole  knowledge  is  only 
deduced  and  inferential.  We  suppose  what  God 
is  by  seeing  what  God  does. 

But  shall  it  be  so  in  heaven?  I  understand  a 
stronger  meaning  to  be  wrapped  up  in  the  ex- 
pression, "  Beholding  God."  It  seems  reasonable 
to  suppose  that  the  soul  shall  then,  by  an  intui- 
tion, as  if  it  had  an  eye,  gaze  right  at  the  attri- 
butes of  God,  and  not  at  the  remote  workings 
of  those  attributes.  It  shall  look  upon  those  at- 
tributes assembled,  and  not  one  by  one;  and, 
instead  of  admiring  the  scattered  glory  of  God's 
particular  dealings,  shining  like  different  stars; 
we  shall  stand  before  the  concentrated  splendour 
of  his  moral  perfection,  and  not  be  overpowered 
nor  dismayed.  We  shall  not  have  to  say,  as 
we  say  now,  of  the  Almighty,  "This  work  is 
mighty,"  and  "  That  plan  is  wise,  and  these  deal- 
ings are  right,  and  God's  word  is  truth;"  for  it 
is  not  the  separate  acting  out  of  these  qualities; 
it  is  their  repose  which  we  shall  see,  when  they 
are  gathered  together,  as  to  their  home  in  God. 


THE   christian's    SATISFYING    PORTION.        299 

We  shall  see  the  very  truth  itself,  and  right- 
eousness itself,  and  eternal  wisdom,  and  poAver, 
and  love,  in  their  perfect  essence,  and  their  com- 
bined spendour.  Nay!  we  shall  see  God ;  i.  e., 
not  only  these  attributes  of  his  excellency,  but 
God,  the  substantial  Deity ;  more  full,  more  ex- 
cellent, than  the  qualities  which  he  puts  on  like 
a  garment.  Him  shall  we  behold.  Christians,  if 
we  are  true  to  our  calling.  Him,  wdio  is  the  eter- 
nal substance  of  glory,  and  who  makes  all  his 
attributes  glorious,  by  uniting  them  to  himself* 
We  shall  see  him  if  we  make  good  our  calling 
and  election. 

But  it  is  time  to  proceed  to  the  other  topic, 
associated  with  this  vision  of  God,  viz  :  assimila- 
tion to  him ;  being  made  in  his  likeness — "When 
I  awake  in  thy  hkeness,"  says  the  Psalmist. 

2dly.  We  are  not,  of  course,  to  understand  this 
expression  absolutely,  and  in  its  widest  meaning. 
To  be  in  the  likeness  of  God,  cannot  signify  to 
be  like  him  in  his  essential  nature,  or  in  his  infi- 
nite attributes ;  for  it  may  be  very  forcibly  ques- 
tioned, whether  there  could  be  two  infinite  beings, 
and  not  less  reasonably,  whether  a  creature  could 
be  made  infinite  by  any  power.  There  must  be 
certain  attributes  of  the  Godhead  which  cannot 
be  communicated  to  another;  both  because  some 
attributes  can  be  possessed  by  only  one,  and  be- 


300     THE  christian's  satisfying  portion. 

cause,  if  bestowed,  the  nature  of  a  created  thing 
would  not  be  capacious  enough  to  hold  them. 

It  is  the  peculiar  madness  of  sin,  however, 
that  it  aims  at  this  very  impossibility.  The 
wickedness  of  the  natural  heart  essentially  con- 
sists in  this,  that  it  aspires  to  be  like  God,  in  su- 
premacy, and  wisdom,  and  power :  aspires  after 
those  incommunicable  attributes,  which  it  were 
impossible  for  God  to  alienate,  and  only  impious 
for  the  creature  to  desire.  There  is,  however, 
an  imitation  and  likeness  of  God  which  is  both 
possible  and  most  blessed.  -There  are  qualities 
of  the  Deity  which  may  be  communicated  to  his 
creatures,  and  which  his  creatures  may  receive ; 
not  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  them  infinite,  but 
in  such  a  way  as  to  fill  the  largest  measure  of 
their  nature  with  a  most  rich  and  happy  grace. 

We  know,  for  example,  that  God  may  impart 
to  the  soul  of  his  child  a  portion  of  his  own  be- 
nevolence; so  that  the  regenerated  man  shall 
exhibit  the  gentleness,  and  tender-heartedness, 
and  generosity,  and  self-sacrifice,  of  love  un- 
feigned. And  we  know  that  the  Almighty  Giver 
may  change  the  natural  heart  of  sin,  and  fill  it 
with  such  a  love  for  righteousness;  such  purity 
of  the  moral  sense;  such  a  hatred  of  sin,  even 
in  the  thought,  that  you  might  say.  There  is  the 
image  and  likeness  of  God. 


THE  christian's  satisfying  portion.     301 


And  this  is  always  the  case  in  regeneration, 
yet  always  in  a  limited  degree.  The  likeness  of 
the  regenerate  to  God  is,  in  this  life,  disfigured 
and  obscure.  There  is,  in  a  renewed  soul,  the 
longing  after  higher  degrees  of  holiness,  and  a 
growing  disgust  with  merely  worldly  enjoyments. 
Yet  this  feeling  constantly  labours  against  the 
inborn  propensity  to  sin.  Sometimes  the  carnal 
propensity  conquers,  and  sometimes  the  upward 
tendency  of  his  new  nature.  Many  an  agony 
does  the  child  of  God  endure  from  this  inward 
battle  of  the  old  and  new  natures.  Many  a 
groan  of  mental  suffering  has  reached  God's  ears, 
when  he  has  watched  the  strife  of  his  beloved 
one  wrestling  with  sin.  How  often  have  tears 
of  piety  gushed  forth,  because  the  heart  had 
yielded  so  easily  to  the  world,  or  the  flesh, 
or  the  devil;  and  the  cry  of  anguish  and 
despondency  broken  out,  when  the  Christian 
looked  upon  himself,  "  0,  wretched  man  that  I 
am,  who  shall  deliver  me  from  the  body  of  this 
death?" 

In  this  life,  then,  we  cannot  say  there  is  a 
perfect  assimilation  of  the  soul  to  God ;  but  there 
will  be  a  completed  likeness  in  heaven.  There, 
the  tendencies  of  piety  will  be  matured.  The 
scars  of  sin  upon  the  soul  be  obliterated,  like 
vile  defacements.  Nothing  that  defile th  shall 
26 


302     THE  christian's  satisfying  portion. 

any  longer  cleave  to  the  new  creature ;  and  as 
he  walks  forth  in  the  streets  of  the  New  Jerusa- 
lem, the  pearly  gates,  the  shining  robes  of  salva- 
tion, and  the  bright  glory  of  .God  and  the  Lamb, 
shall  be  only  the  proper  accompaniments  of  his 
state  and  condition,  as  a  child  of  God,  the  hvmg 
likeness  of  his  Father. 

But  let  me  call  to  your  notice  the  connection 
of  this  topic  with  the  other  just  now  discussed. 
The  language  of  the  text  seems  to  imply,  that 
the  soul's  likeness  to  God  is  somehow  influenced 
by  the  vision  of  him ;  as  if  the  sight  of  God 
had  such  a  transforming  power  as  to  change  the 
soul  into  his  own  image.  After  the  same  man- 
ner, the  apostle  expresses  himself :  "  Beloved, 
now  are  we  the  sons  of  God,  and  it  doth  not  3^et 
appear  what  we  shall  be;  but  we  know,  that 
when  he  shall  appear,  we  shall  be  like  him,  for 
we  shall  see  him  as  he  is."  The  vision  and  the 
likeness  are  obviously  connected,  as  cause  and 
effect.  God  is  beheld,  the  beholder  becomes 
filled  with  God;  just  as  the  mirror  sheds  back 
the  light,  as  if  itself  were  light;  just  as  the  wax 
shows  the  true  image  of  the  seal;  just  as  the 
man,  who  is  familiar  with  fine  models  of  charac- 
ter, and  has  discoursed  much  with  noble  senti- 
ments, becomes  himself  noble-minded  and  up- 
right;  just  so  will  the  presence  of  Jehovah's 


THE    christian's   SATISFYINa   PORTION.        303 

moral  glory  shine  back  from  the  Christian  in 
heaven;  just  so  will  you  see  the  stamp  and  im- 
press of  God  upon  his  soul ;  so  will  his  affections 
grow  utterly  pure,  from  this  divine  communion. 
His  piety  will  fasten  itself  on  God's  own  presence, 
and  shall  never  waver  any  more,  and  his  will 
shall  fall  in  and  flow  on  with  the  current  of 
God's  will,  so  that  there  shall  be  no  discrimina- 
tion; and  you  might  say,  the  moral  nature  of 
that  restored  sinner  is  in  the  very  likeness  of 
God. 

Blessed  and  glorious  inheritance,  where  ye 
inherit  the  fulness  and  excellence  of  God !  Holy 
and  blessed  family  of  Christ;  actuated  by  one 
will,  filled  with  one  everlasting  affection,  bound 
forever  to  God,  contemplating  God,  and  more  and 
more  ravished  with  every  pulse  of  life,  because 
ye  are  growing  more  and  more  hke  the  perfect 
and  blissful  Being  whom  ye  serve !  His  purity 
makes  you  pure.  His  loveliness  changes  you  to 
love.  His  blissfulness  fills  you  with  bhss;  and 
ye  know  it  must  always  be  so,  because  God  can- 
not die. 

odly.  We  were  to  speak  of  the  satisfaction  re- 
sulting from  the  vision  and  likeness  of  God,  as 
our  third  topic. 

"When  I  awake  with  thy  likeness,  I  shall  be 
satisfied."     I  take  this  to  be  the  very  expression 


304     THE  christian's  satisfying  portion. 

that  signifies  a  perfect  bliss.  If  I  were  desired 
to  point  out  the  language  that  should  denote  a 
delight,  totally  different  from  any  in  this  world, 
I  should  select  this  one  word,  '-satisfaction." 
Excitement  can  be  had  from  ten  thousand  sources, 
here  on  earth;  exhilaration  is  not  an  uncommon 
state  of  feeling ;  a  sort  of  timiultiwns  raptiwe,  you 
may  find  in  many  scenes  and  passages  of  human 
life ;  but  a  perfect  satisfaction  and  repose,  you 
never  found,  nor  heard  of,  beneath  the  skies. 
Times  change,  pleasures  change,  and  we  change ; 
and  there  is  no  rest  to  the  mind,  and  where  there 
is  no  rest,  there  is  no  consciousness  of  enjoy- 
ment. The  excitements  of  human  life  spring 
mainly  from  hope — the  desire  of  something  we 
have  not;  so  that  our  whole  career  is  a  constant 
reaching  forward  for  something  to  satisfy  our 
craving.  Uneasiness,  then,  is  the  great  feature 
of  the  human  condition;  and  who  can  say  that 
uneasiness  is  bliss  ?  You  cannot  suppose  such  a 
state  of  things  in  the  presence  of  God.  The 
joy  of  beholding  God,  and  being  in  his  likeness, 
is  a  present  joy;  a  good  already  in  possession; 
deep  and  large  too,  as  the  soul  can  contain. 
''  Filled  Avith  the  fulness  of  God,"  is  the  apostle's 
expression,  most  significant  of  a  complete  satisfac- 
tion. Whenever  the  mind  shall  put  itself  forth 
to  know  more  of  God,  knowledge  meets  the  de- 


THE    christian's    SATISFYING   PORTION.        305 

sire;  and  the  knowledge  of  God  is  happiness. 
Whenever  the  soul  shall  be  thrilled  with  the  con- 
sciousness that  it  belongs  to  God,  and  is  like 
God;  that  very  exercise  only  gives  a  new  fitness 
for  heaven,  for  it  is  a  new  relish  for  holiness. 
And  so  you  perceive  how  heaven  may  well  be 
called  a  state  of  satisfaction;  and  hoAV  satisfac- 
tion may  represent  heaven,  because  the  soul  can 
ask  no  more.  The  supply  is  foremost  of  the  de- 
mand.    God  fills  the  soul. 

I  just  now  spoke  of  some  of  the  sorrows  of  a 
Christian;  and  I  glance  again  at  the  subject,  be- 
cause it  goes  further  to  show  why  immortal  glory 
may  be  called  satisfaction.  I  spoke  of  the  Chris- 
tian struggling  w^ith  sin  and  Satan;  and  Satan 
and  sin  assail  him  in  a  thousand  forms.  Some- 
times wdien  the  child  of  God  is  drifting  on  the 
sea  of  troubles,  and  wave  after  w^ave  rolls  over 
him,  till  he  is  ready  to  sink,  there  will  rise  up  in 
his  mind  the  spirit  of  a  rebellious  complaining. 
He  will  turn  up  his  eye  io  God,  as  if  he  would 
remonstrate  against  the  discipline.  "All  thy 
waves  and  thy  billows  are  gone  over  me."  "Is 
it  thus  thy  children  are  treated  ?  Wilt  thou  never 
stay  thy  hand,  0  God?  Wilt  thou  crush  thy 
worm  to  death?" 

I  say  nothing  in  extenuation  of  such  a  state 
of  feeling;  but  mention  it  only  to  say,  that  in 
26* 


306      THE  christian's  satisfying  portion. 

his  exaltation  to  the  presence  of  God,  the  Chris- 
tian will  see  the  reason  of  the  dispensation;  the 
perfect,  resj^lendent- righteousness  of  God's  deal- 
ings. His  blindness  will  be  made  light;  of  his 
discontent,  he  will  be  ashamed.  He  has  seen 
God.  He  has  been  instructed  in  the  Divine 
plans.  He  is  charmed  with  the  fitness  of  his 
ow^n  dark,  bitter  trials.  He  looks  up,  and  with 
child-like  gratitude  and  tenderness,  exclaims,  "I 
am  satisfied." 

And  then,  moreover,  there  are  strange  misgiving 
thoughts  ^\4iich  the  Christian  has  when  God  suffers 
his  cause  to  be  disgraced.  Wicked  sinners  tram- 
ple it  into  the  dust.  Wicked  Christians  are 
ashamed  of  Christ.  The  best  devised  plans  for 
the  Saviour's  honour  are  all  made  vain;  and  the 
w^orld  seems  fast  sliding  into  the  yoke  of  Satan 
forever.  And  there  are  not  w-anting  moments 
then,  when  a  doubt  shows  its  horrid  head,  "Can 
there  be  a  God  that  judgeth  the  earth  ?  Is  there 
a  power  in  the  universe  that  loves  righteousness 
infinitely?  Then  where  is  it?  Why  does  not 
the  Governor,  if  there  be  one,  stretch  forth  his 
right  arm  and  avenge  his  injured  name  ?"  Heaven 
dissipates  that  doubt.  You  shall  see  the  unfold- 
ing of  this  involved  plan  of  Providence,  and 
every  page  of  the  book  shall  be  luminous  with 
Divine  wisdom.     Ye  shall  see  it  w^hen  ye  have 


THE   christian's   SATISFYING   PORTION.        307 

seen  God,  and  are  made  like  him.  What  ye 
know  not  now,  ye  shall  know  hereafter.  ''In 
patience,  possess  ye  your  souls,  and  then  ye  shall 
be  satisfied." 

I  might  travel  through  the  detail  of  a  Chris- 
tian's doubts,  fears,  hopes,  surmises,  and  trials, 
and  show  that  they  shall  be  scattered  in  heaven. 
I  might  touch  upon  the  many  subjects  into  which 
human  curiosity,  whether  pious  or  criminal,  has 
thrust  itself;  the  permission  of  moral  evil,  the 
prosperity  of  the  wicked,  the  casting  down  of 
the  church.  We  are  in  a  labyrinth  of  dark  won- 
ders here ;  we  shall  be  in  a  vast  plain  of  bright- 
ness and  knowledge  when  we  behold  God,  and 
''when  we  awake  in  his  likeness,  we  shall  be 
satisfied"  with  all  he  does. 

But  there  is  one  mighty  theme  that  now  moves 
the  deep  curiosity  of  every  soul  whom  Christ 
has  washed  with  his  saving  blood,  to  which  we 
ought  to  give  a  notice.  It  is  a  theme  the  world 
gives  little  heed  to. 

But  the  angels  desire  to  look  into  it.  It  was 
a  most  profound  deep  to  St.  Paul,  when  he  ex- 
claimed, "Oh,  the  depths!"  and  we  think  the 
more  we  are  like  God,  the  more  will  the  subject 
engage  and  captivate  our  minds.  Must  we  say 
that  theme  is  Redemption  ?  We  know  something 
of  Redemption  now.  We  know  its  fiicts,  but 
not  all  its  princijjles  and  springs. 


308     THE  christian's  satisfying  portion. 

A  Saviour  died,  we  know,  for  an  apostate 
world.  He  was  God,  miraculously  incarnate. 
He  lived  and  died,  as  the  world  says,  most  igno- 
bly; but  not  in  vain.  He  came  on  a  wonderful 
errand.  He  discharged  his  mission  wonderful}3^ 
The  salvation  he  wrought  out  and  finished  is  a 
wonderful  salvation;  and  by  means  of  it  lost 
souls  have  been  snatched  from  the  brink  of  per- 
dition, and  made  heirs  of  God.  These  are  facts 
which  we  know ;  and  we  know  the  grand  motive 
that  projected  the  plan.  Love,  Divine  love.  In- 
finite tenderness  and  compassion  for  the  guilty! 

But  there  are  things  we  do  not  know.  The 
mode  of  the  covenant  relation  between  the  Fa- 
ther and  the  Son ;  the  extent  to  which  the  death 
of  Christ  affects  other  worlds  than  ours;  but, 
above  all,  and  what  lifts  up  our  souls  with  holy 
curiosity  more  than  all,  the  nature  and  fulness 
of  Divine  love.  Here  is  the  deep  of  deeps. 
There  will,  no  doubt,  be  exquisiteness  of  dehght, 
in  traversing  the  scheme  of  salvation,  and  dis- 
covering new  adaptedness  and  fresh  beauty  in  it, 
at  every  step.  There  will,  no  doubt,  be  amazing 
bliss  in  beholding  unthought-of  developments  of 
redemption;  as,  perhaps,  world  after  world  sends 
up  to  heaven  its  new  recruits  of  salvation,  pur- 
chased by  Christ's  blood.  There  will  be  rever- 
ence and  child-like  joy  in  the  display  of  holy 


THE    christian's    SATISFYING    PORTION.        309 

justice,  and  holy  truth,  in  the  salvation  of  the 
cross;  but  the  ineffable  feeling,  the  joy  that  is 
unspeakable  and  full  of  glory ;  the  utter  satisfac- 
tion of  the  soul,  will  doubtless  be  found  in  be- 
holding the  length,  the  breadth,  the  depth,  the 
height,  of  God's  love  for  sinners.  Wherever  we 
gaze,  there  will  be  love;  for  God  himself  is  love. 

We  cannot  measure  it  now,  nor  can  we  fathom 
it  thoroughly  then.  But  we  can  swim  in  that 
great  ocean.  We  can  dive  down,  and  explore  its 
depths.  We  can  drink  of  its  blessed  waters. 
We  shall  be  with  it.  W^e  shall  be  in  it.  It  shall 
be  in  us.  We  shall  ourselves  he  it,  all  love;  for 
we  shall  be  in  the  likeness  of  God,  and  we  shall 
be  satisfied. 

But  now  what  need  we  say  more,  although 
you  have  not  yet  a  tithe  of  the  matter  of  this 
high  discussion  ?  Yet  it  is  time  we  should  close 
our  discourse,  w4th  a  word  of  admonition. 

You  see  the  importance  and  dignity  of  a  soul. 
Some  treat  it  as  if  it  had  little  w^orth,  and  no 
immortality.  They  pamper  the  senses,  but  feed 
not  the  spirit.  You  perceive  they  are  defraud- 
ing themselves  of  their  immortality. 

You  see,  again,  the  indispensableness  of  being 
born  again,  in  order  to  see  God  in  his  kingdom. 
Yet  you  will  find  persons  who  would  shudder,  if 
they  were  obhged  to  behold  him  face  to  face; 


310        THE    christian's    SATISFYING   PORTION. 

and  who  crowd  their  life  with  all  manner  of  occu- 
pation and  pleasure,  to  shut  the  thoughts  of  him 
from  their  minds.  They  are  as  near  eternity  as 
you  and  I ;  and  the  next  meal,  or  the  next  ride, 
or  the  next  east  wind,  may  bring  them  their 
death.  Their  present  life  is  the  seed  of  their 
eternal.  They  plant  indifference,  they  will 
gather  torment.  They  sow  to  the  wind,  and 
they  will  reap  the  whirlwind.  But  they  care 
not  for  it;  and  if  you  urge  them,  by  the  satisfy- 
ing glory  of  eternity,  on  the  one  hand,  and  by 
its  miserable  absence  on  the  other,  they  will  not 
heed  you,  nor  turn  out  of  their  w^ay  to  save  their 
souls.  Christians,  you  may  weep  for  them.  You 
may,  and  must  pray  for  them;  but  they  cannot 
go  with  you  to  enjoy  God.  You  must  part  with 
them  at  the  gates  of  glory. 

And  now,  m}^  dear  Christian  friends,  are  your 
hearts  ready  to  behold  God?  Are  your  desires 
in  heaven?  Do  you  live  a  spiritual  and  heavenly 
life,  walking  with  God  ?  Oh !  think  often  of  your 
inheritance,  and  how  you  will  spend  your  eternity. 
You  are  noAV  in  the  gymnasium  of  heaven.  As 
you  improve  your  privileges,  so  will  your  glory 
be.  You  cannot  deny  Christ  here,  and  enjoy 
him  there.  You  cannot  prefer  the  world  now, 
and  be  satisfied  with  the  likeness  of  God  here- 
after.    The  same  heart  you  have  on  earth,  you 


THE    christian's   SATISFYING   PORTION.        311 

will  carry  to  your  home.  Keep  it  pure  then 
from  all  filthiness  of  flesh  and  spirit;  for  only  the 
pure  in  heart  shall  see  God. 

And  if  any  of  you  are  seeking  consolation 
under  trial,  remember  the  vision  of  God.  You 
shall  be  with  him,  and  he  shall  wipe  away  your 
tears.  You  shall  behold  him,  and  understand 
why  you  are  afflicted.  You  shall  awake  in  his 
likeness,  and  be  satisfied. 

^^  Wherefore  comfort  one  another  with  these 
words." 


SERMON    XVIII 


LESSER  TRIALS  A  PREPARATION  FOR  GREATER. 


Jeremiah  xii.  5. 


"  If  thou  hast  run  with  the  footmen,  and  they  have  wea- 
ried THEE,  then  how  CANST  THOU  CONTEND  WITH  HORSES  ? 
AND  IF  IN  THE  LAND  OF  PEACE,  WHEREIN  THOU  TRUSTEDST, 
THEY  WEARIED  THEE,  THEN  HOW  WILT  THOU  DO  IN  THE  SWELL- 
ING OF  Jordan  ?'' 

In  the  general  decline  of  piety  among  his  peo- 
ple, the  Prophet  utters  his  complaints  to  the  ear 
of  his  God.  But  not  rebelliously  nor  proudly. 
He  jDrefaces  his  mournful  expostulation  with  the 
profound  acknowledgment  of  the  perfect  righte- 
ousness of  Jehovah,  and  thus  forefends  the  charge 
of  presumption.  He  speaks  as  an  inquirer; 
searching,  as  a  pious  inquirer  may,  into  the  mys- 
teries of  a  moral  government,  and  interrogating 
the  dealings  of  Divine  Providence,  to  learn  their 
drift  and  meaning.  ^''Righteous  art  thou,  0 
Lord,  when  I  plead  with  thee,  yet  let  me  talk 
with  thee  of  thy  judgments." 
(312) 


LESSER  TRIALS  A  PREPARATION  FOR  GREATER.  313 

He  then  proceeds  to  ask  wh}^  the  wicked  pros- 
per, and  how  long  the  land  shall  mourn  for  then' 
wickedness.  Then  follow  the  words  of  the  text, 
which  we  may  regard  either  as  the  reply  of  the 
Lord  to  the  Prophet,  or  as  the  Prophet's  own 
inspired  demand  of  the  wicked  themselves :  "If 
thou  hast  run  with  the  footmen,  and  they  have 
wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt  thou  contend  with 
horses?  and  if  in  the  land  of  peace,  wherein 
thou  trustedst,  they  wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt 
thou  do  in  the  swelhng  of  Jordan?" 

The  imagery  of  the  words  is  c[uite  striking 
and  characteristic.  If  in  a  trial  of  speed  with 
men,  your  natural  equals,  you  have  been  beaten, 
how  will  you  contend  with  horses,  your  born  su- 
periors in  fleetness?  Or,  if  in  the  sunny  and 
quiet  times  of  Palestine,  w^hen  the  Jordan  frolics 
along  its  channel,  or  eddies  in  its  pebbly  pools,  and 
belts  the  whole  land  w^ith  its  silver  sheen;  wdien 
the  earth  laughs  with  plenty,  and  the  garniture 
of  its  summer  beauty — if  even  then  you  have 
complained  of  hardships  and  tediousness,  what 
will  you  do  when  that  same  Jordan,  swollen  with 
the  mountain  floods,  shall  chafe,  and  rush,  and 
overflow,  driving  the  wild  beast  from  his  covert, 
and  whelming  the  harvest  field  with  untimely 
flood,  sweeping  away  your  homes  and  desolating 
the  land  with  a  deluge  ?  What  will  you  do  then  ? 
27 


314  LESSER   TRIALS 

The  moral  of  this  pictorial  question  is,  If  the 
lesser  evils  of  life  are  too  much  for  you,  how  will 
you  cope  with  the  greater?  or.  If  you  are  not 
equal  to  meeting  the  dispensations  of  time,  how 
can  you  bear  the  awards  of  eternity?  If  you 
cannot  act  among  men  as  becomes  a  man,  how 
can  you  meet  your  God  ?  If  you  are  troubled  by 
the  pains  of  conscience,  and  the  disquiet  of  un- 
forgiven  sin,  how  can  you  confront  the  great 
heart-searching  Judge  upon  his  throne? 

You  see  how  broad  is  the  scope  of  the  general 
principle  embodied  in  the  text.  We  may  apply 
it  variously  to  several  classes  of  persons  usually 
found  in  a  Sunday  congregation,  if  not  to  the 
various  moods  of  the  same  persons  at  different 
times. 

Inasmuch  as  these  words  were  first  addressed 
to  the  Prophet  on  occasion  of  a  general  state  of 
irreligion,  so  the  Christian  may  accept  them  as 
adapted  to  himself. 

No  earnest-minded  follower  of  Christ  can  look 
abroad  upon  the  generation  in  which  we  live, 
without  anxiety  for  the  genuineness  of  the  faith, 
and  the  prosperity  of  the  cause  of  the  Hedeemer. 
He  sees  a  wide-spread  nominal  Christianity.  He 
sees  the  church  gathering  into  itself  persons  from 
all  the  various  classes  of  men.  He  sees  the 
Christian  name  so  honourable,  that  to  refuse  that 


A  PREPARATION   FOR   GREATER.  315 

title  to  any  man,  is  deemed  almost  an  indignity. 
He  finds  that,  whatever  else  may  be  thought  of 
his  Master,  the  once  despised  Nazarene  is  uni- 
versally acknowledged  to  have  been  the  most 
remarkable  personage  that  ever  trod  the  road  of 
human  life.  He  beholds  the  several  bands,  who 
call  themselves  Christians,  engaged  with  surpass- 
ing energy  in  the  various  enterprises  for  propa- 
gating the  faith,  and  doing  good  to  men.  And 
if  he  looked  no  further,  he  might  take  up  his 
jubilate,  and  sing  the  triumph  of  the  cross.  But 
further  he  can  hardly  look  without  seeing  a  sight 
that  arrests  the  premature  thanksgiving  on  his 
lips,  and  sends  back  the  current  of  his  cooled 
blood  to  his  heart  again.  For  he  sees  labouring 
side  by  side  with  the  church,  labouring  with 
equal  energy,  the  hostile  power  of  the  world. 
That  vehemence  of  zeal,  which,  at  first  sight, 
seemed  a  growth  of  pure  grace,  he  discovers  to 
be  only  a  natural  working  out  of  human  nature, 
in  a  certain  stage  of  its  civilization.  The  world 
is  still  the  world,  as  much  as  when  Christ  pro- 
claimed its  essential  antagonism  to  him;  but 
with  this  great  and  ominous  difference,  that  in- 
stead of  meeting  Christianity  face  to  face,  and 
rushing  to  an  open  onslaught,  it  travels  the  same 
road,  under  the  shadow  of  the  same  red  cross 
banner,  and  pretends  a  courteous  alliance  with 


316  LESSER   TRIALS 

the  saints  of  God.  The  world  no  longer  calls 
itself  the  world.  Infidelity  no  longer  owns  its 
baptismal  name  of  Deism.  Every  form  of  here- 
tical opinion  claims  to  have  extracted  some  prin- 
ciple from  the  Gospel,  its  purest  and  best  princi- 
ple, and  made  it  its  own  vital  element.  Dame 
Morality  borrows  some  of  the  most  spiritual 
phrases  of  Christianity  for  its  crutches.  Philan- 
thropy makes  scorn  of  piety.  The  world's  lite- 
rature, professing  the  utmost  purity  of  sentiment, 
insinuates  the  venom  of  unregenerate  nature  into 
the  church;  and,  what  is  worse,  the  church's 
literature  borrows  the  world's  enticing  forms,  to 
make  the  truth  as  it  is  in  Jesus  more  romantic 
and  winning,  and  sequesters  the  Bible  from  the 
parlour,  and  hides  it  in  the  closet  or  the  sick 
chamber.  Expediency  often  supplants  the  sim- 
plicity of  religious  principle,  and  Christians  are 
too  apt  to  consider  Avhat  will  iell^  rather  than  what 
is  right  and  true.  Even  in  the  preaching  of  the 
Gospel,  the  most  august  of  human  responsibih- 
ties,  looking  beyond  all  other  responsibilities,  to 
the  remotest  issues,  and  the  most  solemn  criticism 
of  the  judgment,  the  requirement  seems  often  to 
be,  not  what  the  people  need,  but  what  they  will 
like ;  not.  Is  it  the  truth  of  the  living  God  ?  but. 
Is  it  the  general  sentiment  of  the  congregation? 
In  such  a  state  of  things,  it  is  not  surprising 


A  PREPARATION  FOR  GREATER.      317 

that  Christians  and  worldKngs  should  mingle  and 
be  confounded  together.  It  is  not  strange  that 
the  halls  of  dissipation  should  echo  with  the 
frivolous  voices  of  nominal  Christians,  and  that 
religion  should  lose  its  manliness  in  the  world; 
and  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  not  strange  that  the 
votaries  of  fashion  and  mammon  should  come, 
with  theii^  spirits  reeking  with  the  odour  of  world- 
liness,  to  the  very  altar  of  the  Redeemer,  as  if 
their  pollution  could  be  so  sanctified,  and  their 
worldly  mindedness  buy  there  an  indulgence. 

When  an   earnest-minded    Christian   beholds 
this  view,  he  may  well  be  smitten  with  a  pre- 
monitory fear,  what  shall  be  the  end  of  these 
things.     Lord  God,  why  is  this?    JSTow,  if  there 
were  no  other  answer,  there  is  this,  discouraging 
as  it  may  seem:    "If  thou  hast  run  with  the 
footmen,  and  they  have  wearied  thee,  then  how 
wilt  thou  contend  with  horses?   and  if  in  the 
land  of  peace,  wherein  thou  trustedst,  they  wea- 
ried thee,  then  how  wilt  thou  do  in  the  swelling 
of  Jordan."     It  is  as  if  God  should  say.  You 
have  not  seen  the  worst,  and  if  you  are  so  dis- 
heartened at  these  early  signs  of  defection,  what 
will  you  do  when  the  church  is  almost  blotted 
out? 

The  Scriptures  instruct  us  to  look  for  a  period, 
before  the  coming  of  Christ,  when  there  shall  be 

27  * 


318  LESSER   TRLVLS 

a  great  falling  away  from  the  faith  and  purity  of 
the  Gospel.  The  mixing  of  the  church  with  the 
world,  will  easily  prepare  it  for  an  open  apostasy. 
Whether  this  will  come  from  the  gradual  extinc- 
tion of  piety  in  the  church,  till  men  shall  wonder 
why  they  were  baptized,  and  for  consistency's 
sake  will  renounce  a  title  to  which  they  feel  they 
have  no  claim ;  or  whether  martyr  fires  shall  burn 
again,  and  dungeon  tortures  shall  try  men's  faith, 
so  that  the  church,  effeminate  and  enervated, 
shall  shrink  from  the  trial,  and  curse  the  Naza- 
rene  rather  than  die  for  him — this  we  are  not 
told.  If  history  shall  ever  develope  such  an 
issue,  is  it  too  much  to  say  that  its  elements  are 
to  be  detected  in  the  present  state  of  the  church? 
May  not  the  adoption  of  the  world  by  the  church 
be  the  foul  presage  of  its  corruption  ?  And  may 
not  the  very  energy  and  activity  of  the  church, 
in  what  may  be  called  the  hisincss  of  religion,  be 
only  one  form  of  that  power  of  will,  which,  un- 
less it  be  tamed  and  softened  by  secret  medita- 
tion on  the  infinite  and  searching  communion 
with  the  God  of  our  spirits,  will  degenerate  into 
a  mere  self-will,  the  other  name  for  pride,  rebel- 
lion, and  godlessness? 

Be  this  as  it  may.  Christian,  3^our  faith  is  not 
to  stand  in  the  signs  of  the  times,  but  in  the 
power  of  God.     Feeble  is  the  piety  that  cannot 


A  PREPARATION  FOR  GREATER.       319 

survive  unpopularity.  Childish  and  cowardly  is 
the  spirit  that  must  be  reinforced  by  daily  tri- 
umphs of  the  cross.  The  iniquity  of  the  Amo- 
rites  is  not  yet  full,  said  the  Lord.  Depravity 
has  not  yet  developed  its  utmost  capacity. 
Christ's  victory  is  not  yet  ^practically  achieved. 
His  glory  will  not  be  full  until  the  possible  forms 
of  wickedness  shall  be  matured,  and  all  the  evil 
that  can  be  shall  stand  up  in  embattled  self-will. 
Then  shall  He,  whose  eyes  are  hke  fire,  and  his 
feet  like  fine  brass,  come  forth  and  destroy  them 
with  the  brightness  of  his  coming,  and  let  them 
know  that  verily  there  is  a  God  that  judgeth 
the  earth. 

Meanwhile,  he  sits  above  in  the  calm  suffi- 
ciency of  omnipotence,  and  though  the  nations 
rage,  and  iniquity  come  in  like  a  flood,  he  holds 
the  reins  of  the  times,  and  drives  back  the  surg- 
ing wickednesss,  till  its  period  is  full.  He  can 
bear  to  see  the  corruption  of  his  church.  He 
looks  forward  along  the  line  of  that  begun  world- 
liness,  which  leads  to  the  dreadful  permitted 
apostasy,  and  to  that  terrible  vindication  which 
shall  crown  the  faithful  few  with  glory,  and  drive 
back  his  enemies  with  the  blast  of  his  mouth. 
Meanwhile,  he  can  afford  to  wait;  and,  Christian, 
so  should  you.  In  your  patience  possess  jout 
soul.     If  in  these  minor  iniquities  of  the  times, 


320  LESSER  TRIALS 

they  weary  thee ;  if  in  the  land  of  comparative 
peace  and  quiet,  and  a  popular  Christianityj  they 
weary  thee ;  then  look  forward  to  the  swelling 
of  Jordan,  and  your  faith  will  be  driven  to  rest, 
where  it  ought,  in  the  simple  word  of  the  living 
God;  the  best  faith  for  all  times,  the  only  faith 
that  can  make  you  endure  to  the  end,  and  bring 
you  to  a  crown  of  life. 

Secondly,  We  may  consider  our  text  as  it  is 
applicable  again  to  the  private  trials  of  life.  ''  If 
thou  hast  run  with  the  footmen,  and  they  have 
wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt  thou  contend  with 
horses?  and  if,  in  the  land  of  peace,  wherein 
thou  trustedst,  they  wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt 
thou  do  in  the  swelling  of  Jordan  ?"  It  is  thus 
an  admonition  to  fortitude  in  meeting  the  com- 
mon ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to. 

Although  no  lot  is  without  its  own  distinctive 
troubles,  and  no  state  of  society  is  free  from  its 
peculiar  embarrassments,  yet  these  are  borne 
with  very  various  degrees  of  patience.  So  emi- 
nently true  is  the  Scripture  declaration,  that  man 
is  born  to  trouble,  that  if  his  condition  produces 
no  troubles,  his  very  nature  and  disposition  will. 
In  the  necessities  of  poverty,  the  hardness  of  an 
emigrant  life,  and  the  general  inferiority  of  an 
uncivilized  state,  we,  of  this  century,  think  we 
can  see  reason  for  constant  complaint.   We  shrink 


A   PREPARATION   FOR   GREATER.  321 

from  such  an  inclement  life,  a  life  of  total  hard- 
ship, in  which  the  commonest  conveniences  are 
supplied  only  loy  substitute  and  shifts;  and  des- 
titution, in  its  baldest  shape,  meets  the  adventurer, 
morning,  midday,  and  night.  Refinement  and 
luxury  bring  all  their  gratifications  for  sense  and 
soul,  and  empty  into  our  laps  the  cornucopia  of 
civilized  enjoyment,  till  it  would  be  quite  diffi- 
cult to  say  what  higher  grade  there  is  for  society 
to  reach.  And  3^et,  in  the  inward  life  of  men, 
in  these  different  states  of  society,  there  may  not 
be  so  much  difference  as  appears.  For,  on  the 
one  hand,  God,  who  tempers  life  to  its  various 
livers,  has  made  hardship  the  natural  mother  of 
hardness.  The  very  energy  of  emigration  and 
adventure  is  exhilaration  like  that  of  joy;  labour 
has  its  crown  in  achievement,  and  the  bared 
nerves  of  life  accommodate  themselves  with  an 
additional  coat  of  callousness,  that  defies  the 
hardness  of  such  a  condition.  Hope,  that  first 
attracted  the  enterprise,  still  fascinates  the  ad- 
venturer. Hope  is  his  meat,  and  his  jiillow,  and 
his  shelter,  making  his  night  and  day  happy. 

We,  to  whom,  in  the  softness  and  refinement 
of  life,  such  a  lot  would  be  a  daily  cruelty,  have 
scarcely  a  single  trial  like  his.  Yet  trouble  is  so 
legitimately  human,  that  w^e  borrow  it,  if  it  does 
not  come.     No  palace  door  shuts  out  the  inevita- 


322  LESSER  TRIALS 

ble  ills  of  reality,  or  of  fancy.  No  cushioned 
luxury  satiates  desire,  till  it  says,  "I  want  no 
more."  A  zephyr  will  be  a  hardship  to  a  life 
that  has  no  hurricanes,  and  his  spirit  will  quail  to 
mere  vexations,  who  might,  under  other  circum- 
stances, be  strong  enough  to  cope  with  solid, 
massive,  manly  trials.  Thus  it  is  that  little 
griefs  corrode  us,  when  there  are  no  great  ones 
to  buffet  us;  and  we  are  wearied  with  running 
with  footmen,  overcome  by  troubles  that  spring 
out  of  ourselves,  and  our  commonest  life.  How 
then  shall  we  contend  with  horses,  the  real, 
grave,  earnest  trials,  that  come  from  a  higher 
source,  and  put  all  our  manhood  to  the  test  ?  If, 
in  this  land  of  peace,  wherein  you  trust,  they 
have  wearied  you,  what  will  you  do  in  the  actual 
swelling  forth  of  Jordan  ?  It  is  a  question  worth 
considering.  For  life  will  be  untrue  to  itself,  if 
it  do  not  bring  to  each  one  of  us  a  measure  of 
real  sorrow,  which  it  will  require  more,  perhaps, 
than  manly  strength  to  meet. 

Refinement,  wealth,  taste,  and  cultivated  sen- 
timent, confer  no  immunity  from  the  dispensa- 
tions of  Almighty  God.  Domestic  woes  will 
supplant  your  domestic  vexations,  and  mercantile 
disaster  may  put  to  shame  your  petulance  at  little 
mercantile  inconveniences,  and  serious  pains 
make   you  forget  your   fancied  ailments;   and 


A   PREPARATION   FOR   GREATER.  323 

above  all,  the  solemn  necessities  of  your  soul 
shall  merge  all  remembrance  of  the  artificial 
wants  that  now  make  your  life's  troubles.  Yes, 
there  will  come  a  time  when  your  heart,  if  you 
have  one,  will  be  torn  with  its  bereaved  love. 
That  darkened  chamber,  where  you  watch  by 
the  bed  of  the  dying,  will  be  an  apt  picture  of 
your  darkened  life,  losing  the  light  of  your  heart, 
and  you  will  not  know  w^here  to  find  consola- 
tion. 

And  that  dying  chamber  will  be,  too,  your 
own  dying  place;  and,  next  to  the  grief  for 
friends  already  lost,  will  be  the  grief  that  you 
are  now  going  to  leave  the  rest  behind.  Amid 
the  faintness  and  irritabihty  of  your  last  sick- 
ness, your  former  troubles  will  seem  how  mean, 
and  your  vexation  how  unreasonable  and  shame- 
ful. 

If  you  would  think  of  these  coming  things 
now,  how  would  it  muffle  your  tongue  against 
complaint,  and  subdue  your  feelings  to  bear  the 
insignificant  trials  of  your  lot !  What  are  these 
passing  inconveniences  to  the  solemn  woe  of  that 
burial  service,  in  which  you  must  stand  by  the 
open  grave,  and  see  your  dead  husband,  or  wife, 
or  child,  or  parent,  laid  out  of  your  sight  for- 
ever? What  are  these  anxieties  to  that  heart- 
absorption,  with  which  you  will  watch  for  his 


324  LESSER   TRIALS 

last  breath — to  that  loneliness,  with  which  you 
shall  pace  his  desolated  chamber,  and  your  un- 
conscious lips,  speaking  for  your  longing  heart, 
shall  call  his  name,  and  get  no  answer?  This  is 
a  grief  that  must  come.  Every  day  brings  it 
nearer  the  swelling  of  Jordan,  when  your  heart 
shall  be  overwhelmed.     What  will  you  do  then? 

My  hearers,  you  can  easily  see,  by  this  ex- 
ample, how  all  your  common  troubles  lose  their 
weight  by  the  side  of  this.  If  3^ou  would  thus 
accustom  yourselves  to  look  to  the  sorrows  that 
are  real,  you  would  have  none  that  are  factitious 
and  fanciful;  to  those  that  are  inevitable,  you 
would  avoid  all  the  rest. 

But  you  may  reply,  "What  comfort  is  there 
in  contemplating  greater  woes,  in  order  to  neu- 
tralize the  lesser?  I  should  but  increase  the 
amount  of  my  present  wretchedness  by  anticipat- 
ing the  future."  And  this  would  be  true,  if  3^ou 
took  only  an  unsatisfied  and  selfish  view  of  them. 
But  my  hope  would  be,  that  the  thought  of  such 
trials  coming  inevitably  upon  you,  would  pro- 
duce the  good  effect  of  the  trials  themselves. 
It  would  lead  you  to  resort  for  help  and  strength 
to  Him  who  is  the  all-sufficient  Helper.  You 
might  be  led  to  cast  your  burden  upon  the  Lord. 
You  might  go  upon  your  bended  knees,  and  im- 
plore the  grace  without  which  sorrow  will  either 


A   PREPARATION   FOR   GREATER.  325 

crush  or  harden  your  heart.  Nay,  there  would 
be  more  hkelihood  of  succeedmg  in  your  prayer, 
than  if  you  waited  for  the  woe.  For  while  you 
would  feel  your  need  of  Divine  sustaining  grace, 
that  feeling  would  have  less  of  selfish  distraction 
than  if  the  sorrow  were  already  crushing  3^ou. 
While  the  woe  was  yet  distant,  you  would  not 
be  unmanned  by  fear;  yet,  at  the  same  time,  be- 
cause it  was  inevitable,  you  would  be  impelled 
to  a  refuge  in  the  bosom  of  God.  Would  to  God 
that  you,  who  are  in  the  very  central  part  of  the 
land  of  peace  and  privilege,  and  yet  find  trials 
that  chafe  your  spirits  and  mar  your  lot,  would 
look  forward  to  the  swelling  of  Jordan,  when 
sorrow's  deluge  shall  flow  over  you !  Then,  if 
you  have  no  interest  in  the  redeeming  grace  of 
Jesus  Christ,  you  will  feel  a  Avant  that  has  no 
mitigation.  You  will  long  for  a  relief  that  can 
be  found  only  truly  in  the  grace  of  a  child  of 
God.  A  false  and  fatal  relief  you  may  find  in  a 
hard  heart.  But  seek  that  grace  now,  and  it  Avill 
enable  you  not  only  to  triufiiph  over  your  real 
griefs,  but  to  despise  your  fictitious  ones.  That 
which  will  make  your  sorrows  light,  will  make 
your  vexations  null. 

Thirdly,  But  let  us  pass  to  consider  another 
application  of  our  text,  to  a  different  class  of 
28 


326  LESSER   TRIALS 

troubles ;  in  reference  to  which,  we  may  still  say, 
"If  thou  hast  run  with  the  footmen,  and  they 
have  wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt  thou  contend 
with  horses  ?  and  if  in  the  land  of  peace,  wherein 
thou  trustedst,  they  wearied  thee,  then  how  wilt 
thou  do  in  the  swelling  of  Jordan?" 

I  refer  now  to  the  troubles  that  haunt  the 
soul  of  an  unconverted  man.  God  has  placed 
in  every  man's  heart  a  great  prophetic  witness, 
to  tell  him  of  his  sins,  to  pronounce  upon  his 
character,  and  foretell  the  great  judgment.  Con- 
science is  God's  viceroy  over  the  realm  of  human 
spirit.  Man  may  dethrone  it  by  excessive  guilt, 
and  violate  and  dishonour  it  in  ten  thousand 
ways.  But  conscience  was  born  to  a  throne  in 
the  human  bosom,  and  a  throne  it  will  have,  if 
not  in  this  life,  then  in  the  next;  in  this  life  for 
his  salvation,  or,  if  not,  then  in  the  next,  for  his 
deathless  torment.  When  conscience  speaks,  its 
voice  is  always  kingly.  Even  though  you  chain 
it,  you  tremble  at  the  majesty  of  its  expostula- 
tion. It  is  God's  eye.  It  sees  your  life,  and 
reads  your  heart.  It  is  God's  voice,  counselling 
your  understanding.  It  is  God's  power,  chastis- 
ing your  guilt  with  stings.  Every  sin  you  com- 
mit, open  or  secret,  yea,  every  thought  of  sin, 
calls  forth  its  indignant  reprimand.     You  carry 


A   PREPARATION   FOR   GREATER.  327 

it  with  you,  my  hearer,  unless,  indeed,  I  chance 
to  speak  to  one  rarely  found  in  God's  house,  a 
reprobate.  You  carry  it  within  you,  and  you 
are  made  to  know  it  is  within  you,  by  most  un- 
mistakeable  signs.  Go  where  you  will,  you  have 
this  inseparable  companion  and  admonisher  of 
yom^  spirit,  pointing  always  to  the  forsaken  road 
of  duty.  In  the  church,  conscience  barbs  the 
point  of  God's  truth,  and  fastens  it  in  your  heart. 
And  even  if  you  sleep  upon  the  Divine  message, 
conscience  flies  in  your  face  when  you  awake. 
If  you  causelessly  abstain  from  the  services  of 
God's  house,  conscience  pricks  you  till  you  writhe. 
When  you  neglect  your  closet  and  its  prayers, 
conscience  complains  through  all  the  chambers 
of  your  graceless  heart.  Nay,  my  unconverted 
friend,  I  speak  to  your  inmost  experience,  when 
I  say,  that  in  all  your  life  of  ahenation  from  God, 
you  carry  this  clog  to  your  enjoyment — that 
yours  is  a  life  of  sin. 

You  would  be  happy  if  you  could  not  remem- 
ber that  you  were  guilty;  but  remembering  this, 
oh !  what  a  mockery  of  happiness  is  a  life  like 
yours.  Eich  you  may  be,  in  this  life,  but  pov- 
erty-stricken for  eternity;  honoured  in  men's 
estimation,  but  miserably  vile  in  His,  who  is  no 
respecter  of  persons;  wise  in  human  lore,  ruin- 


328  LESSER  TRIALS 

ously  blind  in  Divine  things;  just  in  your  deal- 
ings with  men,  but  defrauding  the  God  who  made 
you;  free  from  all  worldly  stain,  but  guilty  of 
the  blood  of  your  own  soul.  You  feel  it  so  often 
as  you  reflect.  Your  life's  worst  troubler  is  your 
Divine  conscience.  Your  pang  of  pangs  is  your 
self-inflicted  wound.  Here  is  a  trouble  born  of 
you  and  in  you.  You  have  raced  with  it,  and 
you  are  distanced.  In  the  self-complacency  of 
your  unconverted  pride,  you  have  a  sorrow  that 
you  cannot  withstand.  ^'In  the  land  of  peace, 
Avherein  you  trusted,  you  are  wearied." 

And  now,  let  me  ask  the  searching  ques- 
tion of  the  text,  "How  will  you  contend  with 
horses?"  "What  will  you  do  in  the  swelhng  of 
Jordan?" 

For  there  is  coming  a  time  when  these  pun- 
gent pains  of  your  soul  will  seem  like  the 
brushing  of  an  insect's  wing,  compared  with  the 
searchings  of  heart  that  you  must  then  endure. 
The  time  is  coming  when  your  soul  shall  be  laid 
bare  to  the  eye  of  the  whole  world.  Its  charac- 
ter will  be  read  aloud  by  Him  wdio  gave  your 
conscience  a  part  of  His  own  power.  He  will 
expose  your  open  and  your  secret  sins,  with  all 
their  aggravation,  and  bring  your  whole  life  to  the 
dreadful  ordeal  of  the  Judgment.     What  wilt 


A   PREPARATION   FOR   GREATER.  329 

thou  say  when  Pie  shall  punish  thee  ?  In  that 
ceasing  of  forbearance,  and  the  swelling  forth  of 
justice  and  judgment,  what  wilt  thou  do  ?  When 
the  time  for  praj^er  is  ended  and  gone,  and  the 
Holy  Spirit  of  conversion  has  returned  to  God's 
bosom,  never  to  visit  you  again,  and  the  day  of 
grace  has  had  its  night-fall,  and  retribution  glooms 
before  you  through  a  starless  eternity;  when  the 
w^rath  of  the  Lamb  has  taken  the  judgment  seat, 
and  the  love  of  the  Lamb  turns  away  from  you 
to  the  saved ;  oh !  you  who  sometimes  blush  even 
in  your  privacy,  to  think  of  3^our  guilty  ingrati- 
tude to  your  Saviour,  how  can  your  hearts  be 
strong  then?  How  can  you  contend  with  your 
God?  You  cannot  contend,  for  we  know  who 
will  then  call  upon  the  rocks  and  hills  to  fall 
upon  them,  and  shield  them  from  His  piercing 
eye,  whose  one  look  is  a  pang  that  never  dies, 
and  the  waving  of  whose  hand  is  the  token  of 
endless  despair. 

0  my  beloved  friends,  heed  the  admonishing 
pains  of  conscience  now !  You  are  wearied  with 
them,  I  know,  because  you  cannot  deny  their 
justice.  As  you  love  your  own  souls,  and  as 
you  would  fear  to  carry  an  unforgiven  heart  to 
your  death-bed,  and  to  the  judgment,  I  beseech 
you  to  heal  your  present  woe  by  providing  for 
28* 


330  LESSER  TRIALS  A  PREPARATION  FOR  GREATER. 

the  more  terrible  future.  Assuage  your  con- 
science by  saving  your  soul.  To  the  cross,  my 
dear  friend,  to  the  cross  of  your  injured  Saviour, 
and  the  blood  that  your  sins  drew  forth  from  his 
wounds,  shall  be  your  peace  in  the  swelhng  of 
Jordan. 


THE   END. 


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HULSEAN  LECTURES  ON  THE  INSPIRATION 
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■with  a  notice  of  some  common  objections  to  receiv- 
ing it ;  and  an  explanation  of  what  is  required  of 
them  who  come  to  the  Lord's  Supper,  with  forms 
of  self-examination,  prayer,  and  meditation.  By  the 
Rev.  W.  II.  Eidley,  M.  A.,  Rector  of  Hambleden, 
Bucks,  England.  Adapted  for  use  in  the  United 
States.     25  cts. 

"  This  is  regarded  as  a  most  simple,  lirely,  and  devotional  book — 
remarkably  adapted  for  the  use  of  young  communicants,  -while  it  -will 
be  found  exceedingly  useful  to  all." 

VI. 

PRACTICAL  RELIGION.  Exemplified  by  Letters 
and  Passages  from  the  Life  of  the  late  Rev.  Robert 
Anderson.     By  the  lion.  Mrs.  Anderson.     75  cents. 

VII. 
niE   STAR  OF  THE  WISE  MEN.    Being  a  Com- 
mentai-y  of  the  second  chapter  of  St.  Matthew.     By 
Richard  Chenevix  Trench,  B.  D.     37  cents. 

VIII. 
HARDWICK'S  HISTORY  OF  TPIE  XXXIX  ARTI- 
CLES OF   THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.    8vo. 
$1.75. 

IX. 
TRENCirS  HULSEAN  LECTURES:  one  vol.  12mo. 

75  cts. 

X. 
LAST  ENEMY,  CONQUERING  AND  CONQUERED. 

By  Bishop  Burgess.     12mo.  75  cts. 

XL 
HYMNS  FOR  LITTLE  CHILDREN.     By  the  Author 
of  the  ''  Lord  of  the  Forest,"  "Verses  for  Holy  Sea- 
sons," &c.     20  cts. 


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